Flowing Like Water, Frozen Like Ice
by Poe's-Raven
Summary: The eight and a half months leading up to the Soul Society invasion, as chronicled by Hitsugaya. HIATUS
1. 10 03 06

Flowing Like Water, Frozen Like Ice

This is dedicated to Paku Romi, Hitsugaya Toushirou's voice actress. She has done so many male voices from Edward Elric to _Shaman King's_ Tao Ren. I wondered what it must feel like for her voice, so I wrote this.

On that note, I don't own Bleach, but I wish I did. (I'll settle for just Renji, please, please? I'll play nice!)

Please enjoy.

Culture side note- In Japan, the word for month is written with the symbol for moon, day uses sun. The days of the week are as follows: Monday-Moon, Tuesday-Fire, Wednesday-Water, Thursday-Wood, Friday-Gold, Saturday-Earth, and Sunday-Sun. I decided to directly translate these in Hitsugaya's journal entries as opposed to writing a standard date, because in most translated historical Japanese texts, that's what they do.

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Tenth Moon, Third Sun, Sixth Year (Fire)

It's sunny. The sun shines far too brightly for Matsumoto to focus on the immense piles of work in the office. The Tenth Division, the home of the anal bureaucrats, save Matsumoto, who, for some reason, can

A) Find some weather related excuse for not filing her paperwork

and

B) Usually gets away with doing so.

I don't understand this woman one bit. She's a towering tree with a double harvest of ripe fruit, for a lack of a tasteful word. She's smart, funny, amiable, and, in her own way, respectful of everyone, regardless of the circumstances. Except when she towers over my own desk while I sit fidgeting, writing this for a brief lapse from my own duties. Her eyes are like a hawk, and she knows me unable to write difficult characters small, often leaving me with no choice but to write large enough to have my notes glued on a billboard, or end up with a paper containing nothing but pools of ink. I choose the former.

Yet this gives her a prime opportunity to glance at my writing, as well as lean forward so that my head fits in a perfectly designed nook between her…

God, I hate her. I'm not interested, so why would she torture me like this? After her initial lean, she hugs me just at my mid-chest and gives a strong wink. Every. Single. Time. There are enough high ranking officials she can extort, do, or drink with, yet she always bothers me at the most inopportune moments. I have a feeling she'll try within the next two minutes.

Usually the five or ten I take between tasks is to write my own thoughts, in lieu of banally filling out an endless stream of forms. Yet, I'd rather take paperwork than the horrors of the Twelfth laboratories, or the endless stream of useless, unconditioned violence of the Eleventh. I will fight, but only if I must, and I spar daily, but not to the point of pain.

She's looking at me again. The sun, streaming in form the open shoji screen door will momentarily be eclipsed by a double full moon.

Tenth Moon, Third Sun, Sixth Year (Fire)

At Night

I hate her. She saw naught of my writings, yet…

She knows me. All those times, all those minute tortures bothered me because she could be what I could not be. I coughed terribly on the way back to my house again. Honey syrup couldn't cure my dying voice forever. I thanked whomever that I had a glorious day off to not speak in the deepened harsh tones I used the rest of the week.

And, besides, I needed a haircut. This evening, after I had stood naked before myself yet again in shame, scrubbing harder and harder with an abused bar of soap, scrubbing even harder to peel the layers of glue out of my hair. My roots must scream every week for this terrible ritual; the day of Water is my only day off, so the night before I scrub a week's worth of hair gel out of my system. My hair always hangs limp after the tenth shampoo, as if to protest, and even an entire jar of conditioner couldn't save much of it.

I stand before myself in the mirror after I emerge, holding strands of white-silver protein before my face. I can hardly see, so for the evening when nobody observes, I put on my glasses. My hair is long enough to brush, it falls down my petite shoulders and hangs wet at the nape of my neck every week I cleanse it. You wouldn't know how frail I was under the layers of kimono and official jacket, but I was small, in both size a stature- and even state of mind.

Matsumoto's earlier words rang in my head. She knew me. She pierced me.

"If you're going to be a man, be a man. If not, then don't. Hiding behind a wall of paperwork," she commanded, and took a grand sweep of the room with her hand, "or a block of ice, just doesn't suit you. You'd be ten times cuter and far more attractive with you hair down and a smile."

I shook the final drops of excess water out of my hair, feeling the weight on my chest move, not pushed into me, but with me in its own rhythm. I as small and frail and strong all at the same time, and as I parted my hair down and a little off to one side I thought of her, how she was so free and true to herself, as much as I was not.

I thought of how even my name was fake. Toushirou. Lord of Winter. What kind of frigid name did I choose when I enlisted myself? My name was Aki, autumn. Chilly, but not quite ice, and cold but still warm enough to be a pleasure.

I had frozen myself to just about all, and they all fell for it. Save her.

I looked up at my true reflection and saw a glimmering smile. Maybe the next time I would have to cut my hair I'd get Matsumoto to do it, since she'd figured me out. But then I'd have the presence of a big sister yanking me to every mall dress shop or makeup store in this world and the living.

I usually decide to sing a bit before writing this. At first, my notes were terrible, retaining the harsh quality of the falseness I displayed at work. With each refrain of my old song, the tones melted to the light airy soprano I was. I don't sing well, by any means, but it had a peculiar capability to soothe me before I wrote my evening notes with a glass of herbal tea, looking down on a loose pile of white bandage tape that had been unwound from my weighted chest before my shower.


	2. 10 04 06

Tenth Moon, Fourth Sun, Sixth Year (Water)

At Night

I slept far too late this morning, and the sun had already risen above the eleventh hour when I heard three hollow clangs on my door's bell. I twitched groggily, my neck having twisted unto some uncomfortable position again as I rolled over and yanked the comforter back over my head.

"Hitsugaya!"

The voice, muffled both by my comforter and half sleep, was indistinguishable at the time, so I jumped, the futon slipping halfway across the room as I attempted to make myself presentable. I never sleep this late, not even on a day off. Sighing, I gave up and went to open a shoji.

Thankfully it was just Momo.

I don't remember when she had found me and saved my life. I don't think I've ever even recorded that story; it's something unspoken between the two of us. Likewise, it's still something in my history; it ought to be written down.

I don't recollect the number of years. It's irrelevant. I do remember the gang of ruffians I ran with, all boys of varying ages and levels of maturity. Since it was Soul Society, age really didn't matter. Someone could be dead for ten years and look like a forty year old, or vice versa. Our leader looked like he was seven. He found me in a ditch, thirsty and naked. Food wasn't nourishment, but we still needed water, whatever the laws of this strange land may be. He- Ren- found me, gave me a drink, and threw me a tattered kimono. I must have been half sunk in mud, for he had mistaken me as a boy, and recruited me in his gang. I complied. What choice did I have? I knew nobody, had died at six back in the real world, so my mother was still there then, and my father a person I had never met. I had nothing, besides the name given to me on papers stamped by some unknown Shinigami when I had entered. She chose Aki. I had died on the first day of fall by a terrible ravaging disease. Not that this was much better.

Years passed, and I noticed how slowly my body changed in comparison to my comrades. Many died from thirst, rebirthing them back to the world of the living. Who knows how many times they have lived and died since then, or if they had a lucky break once and was reborn somewhere else, not even rich, maybe, but not in a world of pain, hunger, thirst or all three.

I grew older very slowly, gaining just an inch or so over the course of a decade. My troupe held thieves, every one. I blended into their ranks better than anyone would have ever known, and gained my icy name with them. The fall had all but turned to winter.

It was only when I started to get hungry that I knew that something was wrong. We never stole more than we needed, so food was never an issue. How could I bring myself to the boss asking for such a frivolous thing? I decided to break ties and search for food myself, which was anything but a smart idea. I became dirty again, more so than when I was with them.

That's when I had found Hinamori Momo. Walking through the seventy-sixth district in any flashy clothing was simply asking to be mugged, but that's exactly what she was doing, wearing a full three layered brocaded kimono. Yet she wore a rather unusual black and white patterned short coat over this, and people were keeping their distance, some closing their doors and whispering behind them. Of course, I did not know better, and grabbing my serrated blade out of my sleeve, attempted a strike. She put up a single hand, catching my knife between two fingers, and flung both it and me aside without so much as a sideways glance.

I decided fighting this woman would be futile, so I tried a more direct tactic.

"Can I have a ryo? Just one, please?" I said, groveling at her feet as if she were a goddess of mercy. "I just want to buy some water. Please?"

She replied with a stern look that showed both distrust and compassion.

The very same look she gave me when I opened the door to let her in.

We sat for an hour, looking at each other, not saying anything. She sipped tea, trying to comprehend the fact that I was a woman. Eventually she broke the silence.

"So it's true."

"What is?" I asked, not even attempting to alter my voice. Without my official robes and my bandages, there was no mistaking it.

"Matsumoto has been telling me for a while now. I really didn't believe her."

More silence.

"What can I say? Circumstances didn't permit me to be what I was, and I guess I never decided to consider myself any other way."

"You didn't even tell me."

"I was raised on the street! If I didn't pretend to be a boy, I would have probably been raped by the very same group that saved my life."

She took a long sip, draining her cup, and I reached forth mechanically to refill it, my sleeve almost falling into the teapot.

I forgot I wore a women's long sleeved kimono after my bath to bed on the day of Fire. I hadn't changed it since. I'd never served tea wearing one, except maybe for myself. I couldn't even recall the last time I'd worn one in front of another person; I'd never worn one in life.

This was something, thankfully, that finally broke the tension between the two of us. For it was none other than Momo who had saved my sleeve from being drenched.

"Imbecile," she muttered, holding out the end and throwing it up to my face. "This is how you pour tea in a women's kimono." She laughed. The tension that had been welling up in me for so many years dissipated there.

Time flew standing still the rest of the day. We sat for a few hours on the verandah overlooking my pond; my secret pleasure of gardening, which Momo had known about, took on an unusual new meaning. We talked, first about random things like the blossoms, and she finally realized why I grew so many flowers that attracted bees. She didn't ask me why I did what I did; what had started as a tactic of survival became the only way I knew to live.

That evening we cooked dinner together and discussed how we had come to meet, which is why I had written it earlier in this entry. She ended up not giving me money, but instead insisted on getting me cleaned up, dressed in "more suitable clothing" and when she realized that I was more than merely thirsty, took me out to dinner. It was the first meal I had probably eaten in three or four decades, and I had all but forgotten what food was, or anything from my short span of life. Now I ate every day, and ate well, and I stopped to think how much I took for granted.

After the meal, Momo insisted I get out of my hellhole, and at least attempt the entrance exam to the Shinigami Academy. I'm not ashamed to say I failed three times, and in between each biyearly attempt I practiced more, with her coming between classes to cheer me on. At first I was her little service project, I think, but we quickly became friends. I often became defensive when the other students intimidated her. I protected her not because I "loved" her in the sense she probably thought I did, but because I owed my life to her. In any small way I tried to repay my debt.

I did eventually become a student, feeling no awkwardness at living in a male dormitory. I had, after all, spent a chunk of my existence in nothing but the presence of half naked dirty men, as awkward as it sounds out of context. Nobody found out, because I was unconscious of the fact that I had something that could be discovered. I held their mentality, I roughhoused, and I sparred. I never talked up what I could not do, but if I were able, I would never pretend like the girls that I lacked ability. I eventually moved up the ranks, and when I had to pick a division to work under, I had no restrictions. All of them fought to get me. I picked the Tenth, which I found out later is the division responsible for more than internal defense. It's also the bureaucratic division, handling all paperwork, including the district assignments souls get upon first entry. The very division that condemned me to my own fate.

I worked, then, with new resolve. I wanted to see what I could do to clean up the outlying regions. If I had to sort people, I would not sit back and see them sent into the very hell I had been placed. The districts sixty and up were in serious need of government, lest they would continue to be lands of complete lawlessness.

Momo and I finished out the evening discussing this, when she finally interjected, "Take some time off and retrace your steps. Maybe by actually returning to these wastes you might be able to find a solution."

"Will you go?"

"Me?"

"Who else? Come with me. I… the least I can do is repay you a meal in a tavern in the Seventy-Sixth District. I lied to you. Actually, I lied to myself, which, in turn, led me to lie to you and everyone else who has been with me. Please."

For ten minutes, silence.

"Under one condition. Matsumoto comes too."


	3. 10 05 06

Tenth Moon, Fifth Sun, Sixth Year (Wood)

At Night

I called into the First Division and requested a month for extended work related research, with an option to add a second should I need it. I would be taking my vice captain with me. No, Hinamori Momo's request for a similar absence was not related. Thank you, I'll send an extended report when I return. Yes, I understand that if Soul Society is in a state of war I will retake my post immediately. Thank you again.

And so forth.

Thus I packed. Actually, I laid out what Momo would let me pack, which included whatever hakama- kimono pants- I had that were not black or gray, two men's cut kimono, and the three women's cut kimono I owned. The rest of my clothing was filled out by leftovers she threw in my face, muttering a "get used to it" or something along those lines. Men's kimono are worn by women, I quickly discovered, but with much brighter colors, so she preferred packing her own versions in lieu of the more drab ones in my possession.

The rest, she said sternly, would be coming out of my salary, not hers. I wasn't going to argue. Angering a Hinamori was not a recommended tactic for any smart military personnel.

Much to my surprise, Matsumoto came to my estate around noon. Aside from Momo, it was rare for me to have any other visitors. I refused to conduct business within my walls. So in all my years of working with her, she had never visited me. I hadn't thought of inviting her.

Business was business.

She looked radically different out of uniform, and the only things that reminded me that she was still Matsumoto were her hair and her sword. It would be unwise not to bring one's zanpakutou to the far outlying districts.

It was Matsumoto who ended up restyling my hair. Trimming the edges into a bob with a part to one side, it ended up reminding me of that Thirteenth Division girl, Rukia. She did not even ask to powder my face, which was a relief.

She did, however, offer me a gift wrapped in paper the color of an autumn leaf. It contained a furisode, a very long sleeved women's kimono, and an elaborately brocaded hakama. I changed; we set out.

Unlike Momo and Matsumoto, my sword was cleverly hidden among various parcels we carried. The word had gotten out that the Tenth Division was conducting some new field research, but the details remained vague. I had to get out somehow without people asking too many questions. I became a cousin of Momo's visiting her and her fellow vice captain before they 'parted on their separate journeys'. I wore a hat with a veil, pretending to take whatever religious vow of silence they created for me at the moment. Fortunately it worked, and as the last gate of the Seirentei closed behind us, I sighed a breath of relief.

Just to be sure, I retained my headgear until we entered the tenth district's plains and set up camp for the evening.

The celestial stars blossomed like the flowers I had left behind; they too would wither and die when the sun rose. I started the fire with some crackling autumn leaves. The Tenth Moon grants a beautiful view of the trees that is unrivaled even in the springtime. We sat, unable to figure out how to start when Matsumoto coughed three times.

"Captain, a request please," she stated, poking the fire gingerly with a stick before throwing it in. "I want us to only use first names while we are here. This is a mission for discovery. I don't want us to be bogged down by formalities. Both of you, call me Rangiku."

"And the same for me. Momo, please."

"I don't know which you should call me," I mused aloud. "Hitsugaya was my issued last name, but Toushirou was not my name. It was given to me as Aki. My real first name was Lei." I could not believe I even remembered this.

"You're Chinese?" Momo asked. "I was too! I think my name was…" she said trailing off. "I know it meant Golden Flower, but, wait, I was actually Mongolian, like Captain Zaraki. His name was Nergui." She laughed at this, but I knew no Mongolian to understand what made his name so funny, or if it was just the sheer joy of reminiscence.

"Mine was Bryna." Rangiku commented, looking intently at the fire. "It's Gaelic for 'Strong One'. That brings back memories."

"Like how you died?" Momo bluntly asked.

"I died from sickness caused by malnutrition," she said, not looking up. "I was in Ireland, the eighteen hundreds. I tried to escape the famine in my own country by fleeing on a passenger ship, but my already decrepit body couldn't handle the journey. I died, but a good friend of mine that traveled with me survived. His name was Oliver. He died about ten years later, after being run over by a New York City streetcar. He had been drinking too much. He still laughs at this, too," she said with a chuckle. "Hard headed idiot that he is, the one time he actually goes and gets drunk he dies. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol before, and he hasn't drunk since."

"Where is he now? When do you visit him?" I asked, surprised that Rangiku had never mentioned this before. Then again, she respected my wishes to keep work and play strictly separate.

"Oh, he's nothing consequential. Just a vice-captain, that's all," she mentioned nonchalantly, flipping on her back to observe the stars. "He's named, ah, Abarai Renji, hm?" She leaned back and let out a bellowing laugh. "I still can't believe Renji's real name was Oliver. Oliver! What a puny name! Aha-ha-ha! Poor bloke! And I knew him when he was still a snotty little kid!"

It took the three of us a whole half hour to fully cease our laughter. It felt good to finally start talking.


	4. 10 06 06

Tenth Moon, Sixth Sun, Sixth Year (Earth)

I awake at six thirty to realize that I had absolutely nothing to do. No forms to fill out, no documents to sign, no lazy subordinates to yell at.

Nothing.

It felt… kind of nice.

I wondered what I was even doing up at this hour, so I decided I would stop being so anal and just go back to sleep.

So that's what I'll do.

Tenth Moon, Sixth Sun, Sixth Year (Earth)

Mid Day

When I got back up, it was to the smell of something frying. Eggs, probably. I awoke with a jaunt and realized I was in no hurry. Momo was boiling water and Rangiku was indeed frying some eggs. I offered to assist, and made some congee. We didn't eat breakfast until almost ten, but I didn't have any hunger pangs like when I usually skipped a meal. It was halfway through Momo's second bowl of congee with egg when she let go of it with a shriek, and this time it was my turn to grab the small wooden vessel before it crashed to the ground.

"What's wrong? Momo? Momo!" I said, then screamed, looking into her vacant glazed eyes.

"Bu sh' wo baba," she stammered, then screamed, putting her hands over her head and broke into tears. "Bu sh', bu sh'…" Her sobs echoed for a few seconds then she became silent.

I didn't know what to do. The problem was that this phrase was something I had used often enough in life. _You're not my father. You're not!_

I thought Momo had said she was Mongolian. Why was she speaking in Mandarin Chinese?

Slowly, she looked up at the two of us like the child her body thought it still was. "I just remembered my name," she said slowly. "Altantsetseg."

"Come again?" Matsu, I mean Rangiku, (I had better blot that out) asked. I was thinking the same thing.

"Altantsetseg," she said sighing. "My father named me. He was a Mongol, my mother a Chinese. He was often away for long periods of time. On these excursions, my mother saw many other men, despite the fact that this is a huge taboo. One of them came in on me while I was changing, saw me naked, and…"

She trailed off, and rightfully so. Dying of sickness with a friend by your side is a little different than the direction that Momo's story was going. Whatever this man's intent might have been, it seemed as if she had finally remembered something terrible. It was lucky for Renji that he had died so instantly. Unfortunately, death is not always a clean operation, especially when brutality is involved. Accepting this fact is the interesting reason why some souls can just pass on while others need us.

But who created the first shinigami? Before humans existed, I mean. After Momo had calmed down and we passed her some water and a cloth to dry her nose, I hesitantly brought this up.

"After all, Captain Komamura is a fox-spirit," I noted, as we walked.

Yes, walked. There was no need to shun-po now, we had no hurry to get where we were going, and Rangiku wanted to see her old house anyway. It was in the seventeenth district. After those who had been reborn as Soul Society nobility, Rangiku and Momo had gotten the best deal. Momo had lived in the twenty-first district.

"That's… a really good question," Rangiku replied, half stunned. "I mean, it's such an elaborate system. The only thing I really know about it is the 'Lord's Reform' that occurred about a thousand years ago. Some of the older shinigami actually witnessed it, but I just know it through Captain Kyouraku, who had seen this great change. Prior to this," she said, motioning to the Japanese sings in the fourteenth district's city as we walked, "Soul Society was run in Chinese, by Chinese. After a large number of soldiers died in what was called the Heike something-or-other, they decided to overrun Soul Society. The four that did ended up creating for themselves the four noble families, like the Kuchikis. The shinigami already in power remained in power, but the Japanese warriors injected themselves into the system. I don't know what it was like before the Chinese ran Soul Society, or why nobody has tried to retake it since."

Neither Momo nor I had any sort of response. We just continued to walk.

As the sun began to wane that evening, we finally came upon the central city of the seventeenth district. It was starting to get breezy and a little chilly. Matsu- Rangiku guided, down one winding street then another, and finally came upon a small but sizeable house on the city's edge. A lamp was lit. Interestingly enough, she hit the bell to a house that was clearly marked "Izumo, Shigo, and Matsumoto Residence" in loose calligraphy above the doorway.

The shoji slid open to reveal a pair of people that looked to be in their late thirties, and they promptly attacked Rangiku in a monstrous hug, which looked so tight it might pop her… assets.

"Mom, dad, don't kill me, " she said awkwardly, and they slowly released he like the pressure escaping a balloon. "Can I put up some friends for the evening, or do you have guests? I saw a lot of shoes at the door and I don't mean to add to the trouble."

I'd never seen her act like this. Yes, she was respectful in her own way, but that often still meant barging in when she wasn't wanted or needed.

Her parents, if that's what you would call them, beamed. Her father had extremely dark skin, as dark as the night that was fast approaching, and no hair, while her mother's skin was as white as my hair. She had flaming red locks like her 'daughter', and on closer inspection, the two did look remarkably similar. When her mother ushered us in, her Japanese was oddly unfamiliar. Was that a twinge of an Irish accent I heard? I imagined Rangiku, settling into life in Soul Society talking like that and had to stifle a laugh.

That's probably how I sounded too, a garbled mix of Chinese and English in my attempts at the realm's language. And Momo, and Renji, and even Captain Kyouraku, who at some point had to learn Chinese, then switch! Did I write my first words with a brush pen or one of those strange 'mechanical pencils' Rangiku brought back for me on a trip to the living realm? Did those things even exist when I was alive?

Anyway, I'm rambling. We left our sandals and bags at the door, and were treated to a wonderful dinner. Occasionally, Rangiku's mother couldn't think of a work in Japanese and turned to her daughter to ask in English. Since I went to an English speaking school in my short term of life, I quickly remembered the phrases they used and, not to be outdone, answered one, surprising everyone at the table, including all the guests. It turned out that all those present, save poor Momo, had all grown up speaking English. One was from India, another England, another the daughter of a German immigrant in America, and two more from South Africa. Rangiku's family had set up a pseudo-school for teaching Japanese to English speakers, and it was a matter of friends helping newcomers situate themselves into the system of Soul Society in this area.

When they found out I was the daughter of Chinese immigrants to California, they soon bombarded me with questions in their garbled half English half Japanese, especially the two from South Africa, who had died earlier this year and knew the least of everyone. At one point during the 'interrogation' I noticed Rangiku slip off, just as the pivitol question was asked.

"Naze Aki no kami wa shiroi desu ka?"

Ironically, I was taken aback not by the fact why he had asked my why my hair was white, but because the man had such bad grammar. He was one of the two newcomers, so it was very understandable.

"Naze Aki wa kami ga shiroi desu ka," I stated, first correcting. Then, I responded, "'Albino' des'kara."

"Don't albinos have red eyes? And much paler skin?"

I didn't want to explain it all. It was a very long night. Yet most certainly enjoyable.


	5. 10 07 06

**A Note on Status**-

Next, to the kind **Sapphire of Autumn**: (whose mane is somewhat ironic in this case), thank you for reviewing. You were the first, and that was awesome. :-)

But to everyone: please let me know what you think: like it, don't like it, want to strangle me for making Hitsugaya a girl, etc.

I wasn't doing it to be mean by any stretch of the imagination. Not was I intending anything that is often associated with the genre of 'genderswitch' (which is often gross and disgusting). I actually don't even consider this story to fall in that category, because here it assumes that Hitsugaya was a female from birth, not switched by means of sadistic experiment, etc.

**_Then why am I writing this?_** Simple answer: I hate Hinamori. As in truly **hate** her. What she did late SS/post SS arc was detestable and I do not forgive her for it. Few other characters have ever warranted my disgust, the only other characters I can think of that made me feel that way were Akito from Furuba and Vash's brother from Trigun (although Knives was really just as bad).

Yet of those three (four) only Hinamori is still considered a 'good guy', which is why it bothers me so much. As this story progresses, you'll already know its result- the SS arc. But what causes Hinamori's betrayal? Why is she so detestable to so many (although I am aware she also has a fan base, too)? This story is going to be about all three of them as a unit, and how they really came to be (as you'll see in this chapter, the ties are starting to form). Think about it: Hitsugaya already has severely betrayed _her_ by not telling her the truth no matter how much Aki thought it to be irrelevant. I'm not arguing that Hinamori's actions were justified, or Lady-gaya's were either, but I am trying to provide some sort of viable explanation. I believe that by exploring a character you hate, you can at least understand them, even if you still can't get yourself to respect them.

I am throwing a lot of nonstandard concepts out there really quickly for a Bleach fanfic, I'm aware. Hitsugaya's gender being the biggest difference, but also a look at some of Soul Society's unusual quirks- distinctive nationality difference among characters yet their apparent Japanese names and proficiency, the Rukongai system, the bureaucracy, and a bit more to come. It's setting itself up for a very deep, engaging storyline (hopefully you'll like it…), with both existing characters and plenty of new ones. There is not that much more exposition to slog through, I promise. I already have the entire story in draft (more or less).

If you notice, this story starts in the "tenth moon" (_Jugatsu_ in Japanese), or October, and Ichigo doesn't go to Soul Society until August (over eight months later). You are going to be in for a long ride. And, trust me, it's going to be a wild one. Hope you buckled up!

Enjoy!

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Tenth Moon, Seventh Sun, Sixth Year (Sun)

Sometime in the Middle of the Night

The table had been moved out of the way to make room for Momo and myself to sleep on futons. Meanwhile, Rangiku had disappeared off somewhere up the stairs, and her mother had offered a simple explanation- she had some catching up she needed to do.

About halfway though the night I jolted up, that sound I heard all too well in Rukongai had occurred, that inexplicable noise that comes from a massive and fast depressurization of air when a large group of people enter Soul Society at the same time. A crash, perhaps, or genocide, a fire… who knew, really? I ran outside to see, and see what I could do to assist, when I stopped in mid tracks. I had no documentation with me, not even an arm badge or my Captain's jacket, and the tenth division shinigami that had already sorted this group to this district probably wouldn't want 'commoners' to help them do work they had been trained to do. But I could at least watch from a distance, I decided, and see how the foot soldiers of my own division handled this. I had internal defense (read: patrol duty) back in my brief time as a foot soldier, so I'd never even had training in this field.

It's funny how Momo didn't even stir as I tied on my sandals and slid open the shoji.

I followed the direction of the noise and the pressure of six dots of reiatsu (probably the shinigami), and fond the source of the sound to a field a little out of the way where a sizeable group of people of varying ages and sizes stood, half Chinese and half of varying nationalities. I heard the shinigami whispering nervously to one another

"Sato said a China Air plane had a fuel leak and crashed in the Pacific Ocean. Beijing to San Francisco, I think, but she may have said Diego."

"I heard it was Air China from Peking, not Beijing."

"Shut it. Doesn't matter. We need to start the explanation."

"We can't. We don't have a Chinese translator yet, and he won't be here for an hour and a half, even on full speed."

"You have to be shitting me. I can't speak anything but Japanese and my native tongue of Swahili. You?"

"I'm Dutch, man. We'd be lucky if there's anyone here who speaks either of those languages."

"I was Japanese to begin with, don't look at me!"

This was nonsense. These people, freshly drowned or burned, or whatever the case may be from a plane death, were just standing here, in unfamiliar territory, in the middle of the night, in freshly issued simple kimono, (You left behind any earthy possessions when you passed into Soul Society. Everything, including clothes.) unable to communicate to anyone but their own family (if they were lucky enough to have them there). This was the worst display of mismanagement I had ever seen. I was infuriated.

"I speak Chinese," I said, walking out in front of the group. I was probably the first non-sword-wearing non-plane-crashed person this group had seen. They were a little taken aback at my appearance. "I also speak English, to a lesser degree."

The six shinigami looked at me with disdain. They were not about to be upstaged by a child. I had forgotten how short I was compared to most other shinigami, and how young I looked- people treat you differently in a captain's coat, regardless of stature.

"Alright, fine," I said. I had thought of a bluff and was prepared to use it. "But I'm staying at the Matsumoto residence. A Matsumoto Rangiku, I don't know if that name is familiar to you, yes? Hm? If I'm not mistaken she's a vice captain. I'm a friend of her mother's, helping teach Japanese to English speakers. If you don't think I'm worthy…" I left it hanging. Most non-shinigami didn't know the system, so this was the best route to take. By 'knowing' Matsumoto through her mother, I could say I recognized their flower insignia, name the divisions, and a few commanding officers without sounding over informed.

"Come to think of it, kid, you kind of look like our captain. What's your name?"

"Me?" I questioned. "Oh, it's Aki. And I thought Matsumoto's mother mentioned that her daughter's commanding officer was a boy."

"Well, ah, yes… yes, you're certainly right about that, miss." There is nothing worse in the world to a proud shinigami than being told the truth by someone of a lower status than you. "Well, then, Miss Aki, can you translate what we say word-for -word?"

"Just start, they look nervous enough."

Tenth Moon, Seventh Sun, Sixth Year (Sun)

Evening

In the end, it all worked out, except one thing that really bothered me. When the passengers and crew of the flight had been calmed down and dispersed, the translator finally did arrive. He spoke Cantonese, a dialect not readily spoken in Beijing (where the plane really was from). It's sad. It's like sending someone who speaks Portuguese to a sunken Spanish ship. Sure, Cantonese and Mandarin are both Chinese, but they are very, very different.

I'm going to make sure to note this in my report. I daresay that I might actually have a reformation of my entire division when I return to work. If I can return, that is.

I returned to my futon, groggily, around the time of the sunrise, mainly because several of the passengers and crew stayed behind to thank me. It felt rather odd; as a captain I ran a division employed in this strange line of work, yet never participated myself. The language barrier was a very strong and rapidly apparent problem. Educating my division in some cultural do's and don'ts might actually help prevent animosity by those in Rukongai towards them. Or- gasp!- having some members of my division that worked with newly sorted souls actually _live_ in Rukongai, at least in a shift for part of the year.

We left Rangiku's house around ten, if only because several of the crash victims were still in need of a place to stay. A Chinese family from Seattle who were to stay with her parents would not let go of me until Momo spoke loudly to Rangiku (who understood no Mandarin anyway) that the three of us needed to go if we wanted to make our schedule. At parting, they said that they would never forget me, and wanted me to come back and visit, so we could eat a proper meal together. I promised them that they would be welcome at my own home anytime when I returned from travels, and would send word to this house.

I meant every word.

Nothing of consequence besides a retelling of the previous nights events occurred until very late, just before I was about to write in my log and go to sleep.

Rangiku must have waited until Momo was sound asleep and snoring before coming to me. "What you did last night- the 'speech- was that your first time?"

"Yes, why?"

"I was in that half of the tenth division until I started taking officer exams," she said softly. "I was rather useful because I spoke English, and I still retained my Irish accent. I guess people thought it was comforting," She drifted off somewhere in her mind, sighing deeply, probably remembering something. "I still recall the day you became Captain, Aki. I recognized your face, you were rather hard to forget."

"You saw me around Seirentei before I was promoted?"

"No, surprisingly, not once. I had heard of some boy genius named Hitsugaya Toushirou, but I never put two and two together. I saw you in Rukongai. Or, rather, I…" She paused, and reached into a bag that I hadn't seen before. "If you come into Soul Society as a minor without a guardian, the shinigami is the one who keeps the yellow copy, the one that usually goes with the person as a sort of 'birth certificate'." She was hesitant and tense, but I already foresaw the direction she was taking. It was Rangiku who has condemned me to live in such filth and squalor. And before my face, my most trusted subordinate held out a faded folio with the name "Hitsugaya Aki" written in Matsumoto's distinct loopy handwriting on the cover, stamped underneath with her seal.

She knew. The moment I introduced myself to her as her superior she knew. That's why she tortured me so. In some way, she was trying to relieve herself.

And that's when I ran a short distance with my log so that I could write in silence.


	6. 10 08 06 and 10 09 06

Tenth Moon, Ninth Sun, Sixth Year (Fire)

_Pertaining to Eighth Sun (Moon)_- I simply could not think the night before. Too many thoughts swirled my head. It was only after I had woken up to Matsumoto's worried face that I knew something was wrong. Her hand was shaking and pressed to my forehead. We were in a room, from what I could make out, and it was filled from floor to ceiling with folders and folios, papers sticking out every direction.

"How are you?" she asked, positively worried.

"Where… my glasses?" I asked, realizing my throat wasn't letting me speak.

"Sh-sh, don't talk. You let yourself fall asleep in the wet grass last night and you must have gotten sick. You have a terrible fever. There's nothing you need to read right now, so give your eyes a rest."

"Mo…mo?"

"She went to buy food. My parents only buy enough food for their Earth evening discussions; nobody in this area has enough reiatsu to need to eat, anyway. My mother will make some stew when she returns. You're in my room now so don't worry." She smiled weakly.

"Matsumoto?"

"Captain?" Was it just me or was it her who had requested discontinuing formality? Had she thought I no longer trusted her?

"I'm… so sorry. I didn't mean to run off like that. I just…didn't know what to make of it all. Can you forgive…" I was fading fast and I didn't get a chance to finish, let alone hear the answer.

_Pertaining to Ninth Sun (Fire)_- It was dark, so, since I am unsure as to whether this qualifies as the eighth or the ninth I don't know. But I woke up to an incredibly delicious smell and some of my eyesight returned. Rangiku was sound asleep on the floor next to me, as was Momo, but somehow a hand and a wet towel were on my forehead. I stirred, trying to see who owned this appendage.

"Ni hao ma," came a soft whisper. It was the daughter of the family on the Beijing airplane. Since they said they were from Seattle, that plane must have been the first on a connecting flight to bring them home. Having died far more recently than most other shinigami, I knew a lot more about the living world than they, and even then, I still was not as up to date as I would have liked. They went to see their homeland, but they never got home. And the afterlife's structure was that of a country that they had had serious problems with for years.

I groaned a weak and slightly sarcastic, "Wo hen hao". Yet, I still felt anything _but_ 'very good'. I was blazingly hot and icicle cold simultaneously, and I was actually really hungry.

I tried to reach for the source of the delicious smell- that 'stew' that Rangiku had mentioned earlier must have been made.

I groaned, as I realized I had no strength, and simply asked for it. I tried to take it out of the girl's hands, but after realizing how futile it was, let her slowly feed me like a child.

I felt pathetic.

"Xiexie," I half mumbled, before drifting back off to sleep, heat in my face.

_Later-_ The next time I awoke I could finally sit up and properly survey the room. Sun streamed in from a flap in the roof that could open or close, and indeed, folios were everywhere. I found my glasses and a cup of water near my futon, with a note scrawled, "Out, back soon, don't die on us," so I took the opportunity to peek trough the files. They were the individual (pink hued) copies of the same ones (white hued) in headquarters, so I thought nothing of seeing just how many people my vice captain had brought into Soul Society. I grabbed the nearest one I could find and opened it. Saito Nana (Brigette Kopf), it read, and it contained only a pink copy of her information. I grabbed another. Haru Yukihiro. (Jim Smith) This one belonged to a minor, because it had both the pink copy and the soul's yellow. Year: 1963 Age: 4. Country of Origin: Great Britain (Ireland). Country of Death: Great Britain (England)…

And another, in a bright red folio, marked End Cycle, was labeled with a farmiliar warning stamp- 'Person has lost memory and age due to death trauma- original information unavailable. Person reborn as a child. Handle with care'. Inside was a green sheet, the equivalent to the pink one for souls who lose all recollection of their life with a different set of statistics. Here I found only the person's new name- Higashi Rukia. It had an addendum, too. Adopted- revised name- Kuchiki Rukia.

Lastly, I spied a small corner pile of blue folders. These I had heard of but never seen before. Most people were organized in the standard off-white folder for those like Matsumoto and myself who remembered their previous lives and continued at the age where they had left off after death. About one-in-twenty were contained in the red End-Cycle folders, which had been the case of one of my sixth seats. Asuka Sen, his name was, and he had told me of the time he went around in into the third district for his favorite restaurant and his real parents had found him. He felt so bad being unable to remember them. At least he was old enough to know that he had been marked as such, because he probably would have felt far worse thinking he should have known these people but did not. The blue files were similar to the red ones, but with a slightly sadistic twist- those rare souls who remembered their life just fine but had bodies that were so decimated in death that their souls took on the appearance of children again, and aged from there.

I was now very curious; I grabbed the top folder on the stack and a small smile came to my face. This folder was unbelievably thick for something that held no more than two papers at best. Furthermore, this folder was entirely written out in English, and by two people. The cover had been labeled Abarai Renji, with a comment sloppily written underneath, "I feel so damn short! Now I have to look up at your boobs, not that that's a bad thing…" I couldn't help but laugh. If Rangiku had only died ten years before Abarai, she had probably only recently started her field work at best, if she had applied for the Academy as soon as she learned enough Japanese to take the test. It would have been both a relief and a shock for poor 'Oliver' if he had woken up after being drunk and run over by a streetcar to discover he looked like a five year old and had his best friend tower over him, bringing him into the afterlife. I could imagine him as a child, a stiff messy ponytail, maybe even his strange tattoos on his scrawny little body. It was hard to imagine his height being shorter than my own, but the next set of pages was all (bad, yet humorus) drawings of him done by Matsumoto, poking fun of him. I even saw a faded black and white photograph.

Following these and his pink slip (she probably gave him back his yellow sheet), were a large packet of white documents. Protests, pleading for him to be allowed to live with her in the Serentei, with letters of recommendation from the couple who had adopted her in. A letter from her 'mother', who I discovered was actually her grandmother (I knew they looked too similar) saying that this boy was her nephew and should be allowed to switch districts, even with the argument that any district in the seventies was 'no place for a child', and letters responding saying no. More pleads, more requests, more protests, all shot down by some tenth division official, some I knew, some that must have been gone long before I entered the Academy- and on the very last page a threat-

"Matsumoto Rangiku:

Continue to request the movement of this minor, Abarai Renji, will result in immediate disqualifications of all further attempts at officer exams. The system of Rukongai is put in place for the safety of us all. Thank you for understanding."

Although my stomach hadn't been the least bit sour, I felt like I wanted to throw up.


	7. 10 10 06

Tenth Moon, Tenth Sun, Sixth Year (Water)

I was feeling much better but still too weak to do more than a few paces before falling down and crawling back into my futon. One advantage of these so called konbyoki- 'soul sicknesses'- was that they were non-communicable like living diseases, which made them rare but infuriatingly hard to get rid of. It was only at times like these when I was not quite in my right state of mind that Hyorinmaru visited me, a fact that Matsumoto knew all too well, and had left me alone with my sword still wrapped in oilcloth, having net really needing him since I left Serentei. I could hear muffled voices downstairs, but unable to listen clearly, I used all my strength to pull at the knotted cord and let my sheathed blade tumble out. As per norm, I scratched him like one would scratch a dog or cat, just above the hilt-guard, and, upon hearing a deep low purr, opened my eyes wide and fell completely back down, going as limp as an old sack of rice. Someone downstairs must have heard the thud, as I heard footsteps ascending the ladder, but it became further and further off as my landscape slowly changed to that of the mind.

From what I've heard by many of the officers, they always end up in the same place when they go to talk with their zanpakutou. Not I. While the location is always made entirely out of snow and ice, I can never recall ever being in the same location more than once or twice. The wind nipped at my nose and ears and made them pink, but I felt no chill; I had become so accustomed to the coldness of the space Hoyrinmaru took up within my existence, that I was completely desensitized.

After discovering his existence decades ago, Hyorinmaru forced me in a wild game of tag if I ever wanted to speak with him, but I had a sheer advantage- we were in my mind, not his, and I had slowly learned how to micromanage the landscape.

The easiest way to catch a water dragon was to find him water. Easily conjured, I created a small oasis in the middle of a snow-and-ice garden, decked in crystalline hues. I dipped my finger into the pool I had just formed and willfully heated it until it smoked like an onsen bath. I shod my own clothes and entered naked but unashamed into the warm and bubbling depths, feeling much better. I had forgotten how good a bath felt, and made a mental note to get into a real one after I finished my encounter with the beast. I dove down, realizing I had made the water a little too deep to make the game of tag simple, but, after feeling a set of scales pass by me, I made a beeline and caught one of Hyorinmaru's fins.

We both surfaced, the game being nothing more than a formality now that I had mastered the secret of finding my water-bound friend. He looked up, way up, at my face, and I could swear he was smiling. For what he was he was huge, but seahorses often don't grow past a few centimeters. Hyorinmaru was about half a meter in size, and was currently bobbing up and down gently treading the water, seemingly content. The more I became emotional, the more he seemed to just… be. All around us the flowers of crystalline blue ice bent gently with the frigid gusts that passed through, but nothing fazed him. He just sat and swayed, saying nothing, doing little more than keeping his head above the water. I envied him a little.

Actually, a lot.

I stared at his calm demeanor surrounded by such a harsh atmosphere and said nothing. It was he who finally broke the silence.

_You didn't like what you saw_.

"Of course not! Who would?"

_It was never the will of one, but those who end up following anonymous orders. You know what happens._

"Why don't people stop and think?"

_You're asking me this, why?_

"Because I don't know the answer."

_And you think I do?_

How many other shinigami have sarcastic zanpakutou?

_I heard that._

"I hate you."

_I know. Thank you, as always, for your kind and loving thoughts of me. Now shall we get down to business or continue to make small talk? I know that's never the reason why you're here._

"I'm lost."

_I'm not going to help you. If you're stuck in a maze the easiest solution is to smash the separators, but the most tactful one is to run your left hand on a wall. It depends on your means. Do you want a quick, destructful solution? A deliberate but slow one? The answer to each problem you face requires a mix of the two to different degrees. And you happen to be facing several problems you need to work out- some of which you have been unable to vocalize._

_I won't give you any solutions, but I will tell you your problems. Firstly, you and your vice captain have some talking to do. You need to apologize. She already has. If the two of you can't let go of the past, neither of you can live in the present, which is the time where you are most needed._

_Next, you must prepare for the mental battle that awaits you upon reaching the outer limits of Rukongai. Regardless of the fact that it contains too many unkempt children, the fact remains that you are new dressed as a girl, something you still do not know how to handle in public. You do fine by yourself or with me, but you have never been mugged before._

That was a statement, not a question, as we both knew the answer. No, because I had been the one who mugged.

_On that note, what will you do when you return? Will you reveal yourself to your peers? Women are not stationed lower that men in the Gyotei, but that does not change the fact that you may lose trust among them. On the other hand, will you glue your hair and staple your chest again? Can you?_

_And there is another problem, the greater one you don't yet grasp, the behemoth that is this system in which we all live. What makes it fair? Should anything be changed? Who and what are you to say if it is?_

Hyorinmaru stopped, seemingly in mid-thought, and I reached forward to pet him, stroking him at the nape of what might be a neck. He swam to me placidly, placing his head against my naked upper chest, both in a calm sense of gratitude for not pressing him to continue speaking, and a reminder that I was a woman, albeit not a beautiful one. I didn't take care of myself; I never took the time to just sit or relax, I scowled even when nobody looked, and my skin was chafed and dry from lack of maintenance, peeling away on my tiny, worn hands.

_You're only as big or as small as you want to be._

This was said with finality, and he leaned against me and was silent. In all my years, I had never heard Hyorinmaru talk more in my experience with him than in the past ten minutes. I close my eyes, took a deep breath, and was back in the futon, feeling the pain of sickness swell over me again.

Matsumoto was in the room, observing me, having never seen the pseudo-trance I enter whenever talking with my sword. With my right hand, I touched and gently stroked him again in thanks, the only appendage besides my head that stuck out from under the comforter. My entire sword was wet, but blissfully warm.

I sunk back into my pillow, and she worked her way around me until I could see her from my vantage point on the ground.

When she was within a decimeter of my face, we both started with a, "I just wanted to say…"

"Captain, you first,"

"Very well," I said, heeding Hyorinmaru's first warning. "I'm sorry for running off like I did. I guess I didn't know how to deal with what you confided I me, and that was wrong. I guess karma saw to that. I apologize, I know that your trust must have dropped considerably since that."

I expected a reply, maybe even a few moments of silence. I did not expect my vice captain to erupt in laughter.

"Me? Distrust you? Why would I? I knew from day one who and what you were, and said nothing as I thought it was simply your preference. It was only when I saw those sideway glances at some boys that I realized that you were hiding something and not a transsexual. Not that that would really have bothered me. To each his own, right?" She paused for a moment to try and recollect her thoughts. "It was about six years ago that I put the whole puzzle together. After that, I always wanted to make a trip home and get your yellow sheet for you, but I was afraid that you would have distrusted me. Damned if you do and damned if you don't…"

She put a hand out on my head, and I realized her actions to be that of an older sister. So that's what she was trying to be. Maybe for once I could let it slide and admit to being small and helpless for a while. I just wouldn't admit that to her.

"You're so cold, you could pass for a block of ice, Captain," she mumbled, and the word Captain rolled off her tongue like it was my name, and to her it was. "Let's get you into a warm bath so you can get better soon."

I can swear Hyorinmaru just winked.

**Why is Hyorinmaru a really big seahorse?**

This answer should be familiar to any Fruits Basket fan, as they all know Hatori turns into one of these as opposed to a dragon. Seahorses are thought to be baby dragons in Japanese folklore, and thus my executive decision to make Hyorinmaru's visible form a dragon who was more than a baby, but not quite an adult. Just like Hitsugaya. (But just because her zampakutou looks like an immature dragon to her, doesn't change her bankai here. I just thought it would be an interesting parallel between the two of them. And no, the fact that Hitsugaya enters the water naked is not a sign of perversion. I'm trying to say that there, in the water, she is truly herself within her own thoughts and mind, and only there, shameless and free to do as she pleases, something a certain cat-shinigami (coughYoruichicoughcough) does a little **_too_** often.


	8. 10 11 06

**Really Long Pre-Chapter Comments-**

Writing Hyorinmaru's character last chapter was a LOT of fun! Hoo-hah! Writing the mindset of sarcastic people is what I love! And Shiro-chan is going to get over this sickness, I promise. Just read the next chapter, and see what becomes of our icicle and her sea monster. (haha)

**A big thanks** to **Alaena Night**, **BlackGeta** and **isleofthewinds**! Thanks for the reviews!

To Alaena: Keep writing! Go check out some of her stuff, please! She can really write Ishida like it's him speaking. Scary. In a good way.

To BlackGeta: Thank you! Firstly, I understand the stuff about being cannon/ not being cannon, and, as I mentioned, this is pre Soul Society arc, so all the stuff that occurs in Soul Society still stands. I'll compare this to Star Wars Episode 3, in that sense. I also like trying new pairings if the option is really open, like the whole Yuki/ Kyo debate in Fruits Basket. Hitsugaya's love for Hinamori, in a different sense, still stands, and Matsumoto **loves** Ichimaru. Her feelings for her Captain and for Vice Captain Abarai are those seen in an older sister to her two little siblings, which is pretty powerful stuff that most people overlook. There's a lot more to 'love' than just sex and hickeys and having 'cute' half "xxx"-san and half "xxx"-san's kids, and I want that to come out.

By the way, I always try to check out stories of anyone who asks me to. My only warning is that I can get critical on plot-holes and grammar (just look at myself!), but don't usually catch typos, as I have a visual impairment. It's one thing if you're writing first person and that CHARACTER consistently use bad or strange grammar, but I can't stand when an otherwise good piece of third-person writing is marred by flagrant grammatical errors. You are not Hemmingway, and unless that's the style you are aiming for, don't write like that. Please. I end my rant here. Ignore this paragraph if you wish, but even this website requests the same thing.

**Enjoy:-D**

Tenth Moon, Eleventh Sun, Sixth Year (Wood)

For the first time in half a week, I could actually stand up for a period of time without feeling woozy and toppling over. My handwriting, too, is getting back to normal, which is nice. Many of the crash victims, upon hearing that I had returned, had come to see me while I was in and out of my delirium, I had discovered, and two families were downstairs now, chatting with Matsumoto's mother… grandmother… relative. Yet, the most surprising event occurred when the door to Matsumoto's room slid open with such force I thought it would snap, imagining the paper tearing to shreds and the doorframe shattering under the pressure. I groaned, I was trying to _sleep_.

Despite being under the comforter, a shudder of pure ice ran down my spine. It was Captain Unohana Retsu, and two of the Tenth Division shinigami from the previous week. I retched slightly, trying to conceal my discomfort of them seeing me here, like this, and trying to pass it off as sickness.

I looked up at them, droopy eyed, pretending not to recognize the continuously pulsing reiatsu coming from the fourth division captain, although it was like a sleeping drug, slowly placating me. I was not used to being around her; meanwhile, Matsumoto's and Momo's pulses I had become so used to that I forgot what they felt like.

"You poor girl," Unohana whispered, leaning in and giving me a wink. "You helped these shinigami out so much the least I can do is take a look at you. Do you remember these two men that you helped?" Her voice was calm and soft, but the question that she asked wasn't aimed at me- rather at the two who still stood in the room as a gentle warning for them to get out.

After the door closed quietly behind them, she waited until the footsteps faded and put a knowing hand to my forehead. "Even when you hide your reaitsu, Captain, it's obvious. It feels like a child when they catch their first glimpse of a snowfall. So the question I'm wondering, is this, are you a boy pretending to be a girl here or a girl pretending to be a boy in the Seirentei?"

"The latter, " I responded simply, letting the sound of my voice do the talking.

Her eyes grew a little wider, obviously stunned by my comment, but trying hard to restrain herself. "When I heard from the tenth division a rather unusual story, I could not help but investigate. A young girl claiming to know Matsumoto who looks an awful lot like a certain shinigami captain… honestly, I thought you had dressed up as a girl for some undercover surveillance of your own division- at least that was the only logical explanation my mind could come up with. But this?" She sighed, and I couldn't understand why. Just because I was a woman did not mean I could understand the way their minds worked.

She breathed heavy again, trying to swallow what she was looking at. "Let's see if I can't at least get you back on your feet again, Hitsugaya, if that is your real name."

"It is."

The way I had said it, so half delirious from being sick and half delirious because I could have sworn that Unohana looked like my real mother right now, made her chuckle.

"You seem to still be impassibly stiff and anal as usual Captain, even when you're sick."

She reached out of her bag and pulled out several different vials of liquids and powders mixing them expertly and handing it to me when she was done. I held my nose and gulped, and immediately hit the pillow in sleep.

When I awoke several hours later, the heat had finally edged off and for the first time in days, I was completely better.

I was _better_ than better, and I stretched, wet to the bathroom and promptly cleaned myself, and put on fresh clothing.

Upon going downstairs, I discovered Matsumoto and her parents, Momo, and Captain Unohana sitting around the low table talking. It was an odd sight for me- so many shinigami, yet the fourth division captain looked completely out of place as the only one in uniform.

"Feeling better, Captain Histugaya?" Captain Unohana asked.

"Yes, thank you. Whatever that was worked wonders."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"It seems that the tree of you have someplace important that you need to be running off to. After all, you only have about twenty days to do what you need to do and get back to Seirentei, right?"

I didn't have my glasses on, but I could swear she winked.

"Ah, yes, right, I guess we'd better get going."

It wasn't until we hit the nineteenth district and set up camp that I got the nerve to ask, "Did either of you call for her?" I was rubbing polishing grit on Hyorinmaru; he would rust if I kept him wet for too long.

"Let's just put it this way: you were very fortunate that Captain Unohana is incredibly perceptive- I mean, I can remember this one time I thought there was something strange going on in the Thirteenth Division and she and I gossiped about it for-"

"MATSUMOTO!" Momo couldn't help but giggle at my rather predictable action. I blushed, too, having realized we weren't at work and I should learn to have a little patience when dealing with her.

But it was she who stopped herself, regained her composure and apologized. "Sorry. Anyway…"

Momo conveniently butt in. "Anyway, Captain Unohana told us whole the medicine was taking effect that you had something called- oh, hold on, I wrote it down here somewhere…"

"The name doesn't matter; what did she say about it?"

"On your own, you would have eventually gotten over it, but it takes, at best, at least three weeks."

I could hear a small 'eep' from Hyorinmaru as I burnished his surface. I lifted up my zanpakutou and stared at it straight in the face (if it had a face in sealed form) and scowled. I knew that when I really needed it, Hyorinmaru really looked out for me, but he couldn't have… really, it had just been Unohana's intuition, right?

Just in case, I made sure to polish his sheath, too.


	9. 10 12 06

Tenth Moon, Twelfth Sun, Sixth Year (Metal)

"What do you miss the most?" Momo had asked, as we set out. When she asked a question like this, it was usually because she wanted to answer it without sounding too haughty.

"Miss? You mean, when we were alive or when we were in Seirentei?" Matsumoto was casually shoving something in her face that was given to her by her moth- relative. Whatever it was it smelled good, but I dared not ask for any.

"Seirentei."

"Good booze. Man, the sake out in Rukongai sucks, and I really miss a strong beer- but that's what I got when I kicked the bucket. And… well, never mind." Matsumoto said this so candidly I couldn't tell if she was joking or serious. And I had no clue what beer was, either.

"I miss Captain Aizen."

Somehow I knew where this was going. I was wrong.

"There is nothing greater than love for one's captain," This was a surprise, not because of the statement but the speaker. I could have sworn this was a phrase Momo repeated in her sleep several times a night, but… Matsumoto? Was she saying it to go through the motions or was that really how she felt? Towards shinigami… towards me?

It was that look in her eyes that gave me the answer no amount of words would ever be able to express. There was a clarity I could make out, and a strong pulse from her reiatsu told the remaining piece of the puzzle. Yes. A shiver shot down my spine. She was my older sister, but I? I was her confidant, her employer, her friend, her guide and her muse, rolled into one tiny portable thing.

I looked down in half awe and half shame and was face to face with Hyorinmaru.

Scratch that- I was not small. I was only as small as I made myself to be. I scratched him at the hilt and was met with a growl-purr of satisfaction.

_Later_ I heard something, coming from a distance. We were just heading through the thirty-fourth district when I noticed an unruly commotion. For the first time in my life, I had no paperwork to be distracted from (or by) so after (very little) coaxing from Matsumoto, the three of us went to observe. As we drew closer, this time I had the sense to put on my veiled wicker hat as I sensed an uneven gathering of spirit energy.

What we had inadvertently walked into was… some sort of Shinto ritual. A festival, to be exact, with food stands, games and music from every age and continent that the living world had to offer. Jugglers stood on equal footing with acrobats, fire breathers, and fan dancing girls. I had lived in Rukongai long enough, but had never in the life… death… of me, had seen such things. I was appalled.

We all quickly decided that it might be a good idea to 'reconnaissance the area for any potential ruffians', and quickly split up. I saw Matsumoto 'search' very close to a booth marked with BIER in large red lettering, being able to smell the familiar stench of sake from where I stood. I decided to follow, if only for a moment, and noticed Matsumoto plunk down a few copper pieces for a drink.

"Bier is, of course, the German word for beer," she said to me matter-of-factly, like I knew every human language that ever existed. She looked down at me and wrinkled her nose a little. "Captain, I know you can't stand the smell of alcohol. Why don't you go watch a performance?" She wasn't saying this to be rude. She knew that I disliked her coming into the office drunk or hung over for more than just her work ethic. The scent, for whatever reason, made me want to gag and the drink she held now was no exception.

I decided to take her words no more than face value, and wandered off to a makeshift stage. Behind my veil, both my identity and my eyesight were severely compromised, but I discovered this performance to be only music.

'Only' really wasn't a good adjective for it. It was a single drummer, but the sound from his makeshift metal instrument was unsurpassed. It was a cool autumn breeze, the crackling fire from the sweet grilled yams and marshmallows mixed with the salted sweat from his passion. It was the night, closing softly and then in a crescendo of hazily muted colors from behind my veil. It was the breeze that carried the sounds of the human and bestial tongues, no one language really surpassing the others, except that these languages mixed into an incomprehensible, human anthem, backed by the beat of this lone drummer. He clanged for each of us, and as I smelled that horrible stench step forward and start emanating from behind me, I knew that Matsumoto came to find out the truth too.

**A Thank You to a Person I Have Never Met**

Normally, as you have noticed, I don't like to make chapter comments unless I need to explain something/someone culturally Japanese (or otherwise) or respond to a reviewer (especially when the comment is longer than the chapter itself). Here, I am doing neither, because I need to empty something that has been on my mind.

I want to thank **Jedi Boadicea** for writing the Bleach (Hitsugaya) fan fiction named **Frozen Sky**. It's on my favorites, and if you have some time to kill, or if you prefer to read anything of consequence, fan fiction or actual literature, this fits the bill incredibly well. I don't normally say something like this about ANY kind of writing, let alone fan fiction, but this is one of two titles that has truly spoken to me (The other, by the way, is **He Who Searches For Himself**, a World War Two piece just as much as a Fullmetal Alchemist one, also on my favorites)

There's a dire reason why I need to talk about Frozen Sky here, and I'm not doing it to boost that writer's stats. The story, as I read it, was about me.

I'm not taking this space to brag, but rather to talk honestly about my own character design. I learned to read at two, and would lose myself in anything with words since then, dressed or not. When I was in preschool, I hid a copy of Gulliver's Travels in the bathroom like it was the Bible. At the same time, I was helping my older brother do his math homework. At three. I consistently scored the highest marks, and teachers began to whisper behind my backs. They were watching me, expecting me to go somewhere that I could not yet fathom.

I even hit puberty relatively early; it came before I was even double digits in age, so my growth spurt was quick and minimal, and I remain short even today. I had few friends (read: one) and she quickly turned on me in high school because she wanted to be loved and respected by a higher authority that had used her to try and break me down. And yet, she continued to cling to them, leaving both herself and me in the dust. This person is real, her name is M---- (I'd like to leave her anonymous), and she is my Hinamori. (Read my "I Hate Hinamori" rant back in chapter 5.) Yet, what I feel for M----- is pity, not hate. I find it very hard to hate a real person, or even a fake one for that matter.

My Matsumoto is actually a melding of my two high school friends, C------ and A-------. A----- is the first facet to Matsumoto, the shallow side. A---- feels she is inadequate, especially standing next to me. I always try to put her in the light, show herself her strong points, but she seems to always run to my shadow and stay there, feeling both ashamed and secure. She has become, instead, the embodiment of lust. She is outwardly drop-dead gorgeous, while I am rather masculine in build and average in physical beauty for a woman. She often had affairs (yes, affairs, and of that nature, even in high school) with several boys at a time, forgoing the intelligence she never thinks she has for her ability to 'do'.

C-------, meanwhile, is the true side of Matsumoto, and ironically, the two girls were at one point in time inseparable and connected at the hip, so to speak. She is pious and pure, and began to have her first boyfriend at seventeen. I am a full year older than her, plus a year has passed since then, and I have not even dated, let alone had a boyfriend or kissed. Ever. Yet, she is the intelligent girl who knows how to party (responsibly) when she needs it. Her social life was one I wish I had. She spent Prom Weekend on the boardwalk and beach; I spent it holed up in my room writing a sixty-page thesis, reading mounds of books, before falling asleep in my clothes from exhaustion.

I was, and still am the embodiment of Hitsugaya. Typing away by myself now in an empty dorm room while my roommate hangs out with friends. I can't remember the last time I wasn't doing homework or writing. Making Hitsugaya female was not because of this, the first chapter was originally from another discontinued fic of mine called Laundry Blues, which was supposed to be a set of understated pieces set in the Bleach realm, but I thought this was good enough to stand on its own. Then I read Frozen Sky and realized I needed to say something. I needed to say a **_lot_** of somethings. So I continue to write. The only change I gave to Hitsugaya besides gender that I slowly decided to make a point of was her glasses. I myself am visually impaired (I have a longer comment about my condition in an EXTREMELY Mary-Sue-ish fic I wrote in Junior High called To Tell One Lie that I never finished, as I **_realized_** it was a Mary Sue after the seventeenth chapter or so). So this little piece was a reminder that I was writing a dual personality in each of the tree main characters. If Hitsugaya was going to have a little of me, (s)he would, to a lesser extent, have one of my flaws. As I have plenty of his.

I was paraded, from infancy on, as some sort of tensai ('genius', as Hitsugaya is called in the anime), and at the end of every speech someone made about me, they were quick to add at the end of it "…but did you know that she's legally blind, too?"

I have one thing I always wanted to say to this, "Yes, but did you know I know full well that I don't know who I am? I get perfect marks at school and I don't know the f---- why they matter? I'm just doing the motions. Even when it is a topic I like, if it is graded, I just don't put the same type of effort in as if it was something I just did to _do._"

My rebellion was in travel, to visit as many places as possible to try and find a culture that I belonged in. I went to Japan, to South America, to lots more, often alone or at minimum, separated from family and friends. I saw the world through a soundtrack of petty impromptu sidewalk music and idle street chatter in foreign tongues when sight failed me. And I did find my niche. I discovered that what I truly liked to do was write- fan fiction, for neither profits nor gain. I would get nowhere fast this way, I knew, but I would sure as hell enjoy the trip.

--Raven


	10. 10 13 06

Tenth Moon, Thirteenth Sun, Sixth Year (Earth)

Little happened of consequence for most of the day, and we progressed through the districts at an incredibly rapid rate. Part of what helped to pass the time was a lesson Matsumoto and I had learned the previous evening, and it sort of just 'happened'. Spontaneously. I knew the meaning of the word before, of course, but I had never seen it in action. I was minding my own business and we walked the paths wordlessly. Yet, as I had begun to tap on my wicker knapsack, I did not register what I was doing as a rhythm, until Matsumoto began to partially sheath and snap out her blade. The metallic slide, unlike my tapping, was deliberate, and it was only when Momo stated to alter he step to a half shuffle that I realized that we were truly making music.

The next step was the humming. First clicks of the tongue, then blowing air lightly, then a semblance of words, until the three of us became a symphony on a mission.

Despite the fact, or probably due to, the nature of improv, I could hear distinct differences between each of our parts. I was a steady beat, controlled, shifting only if and when it was dictated. I made sure the music kept to the time we were subconsciously clocking until sundown. Momo was shy; edging into a new beat, then backing away from it like she thought it wasn't good enough to continue. Matsumoto was our soloist, grabbing a snippet of Momo's 'failed' attempts and running with it wildly, almost to the point of incoherence. Almost, but she knew when and where was just enough, like she had done this many times before. She pushed her limits, but never once broke them.

It was only when she broke into full-blown song that I realized she probably had performed before. She sang words in English, then moved on to something I had never heard before, drunk not on the beer from the previous night, but the sheer bliss of existence. When she though she had taken enough limelight, out bet softened until Momo decided that she would take a turn. Her haunting melodies in a language that blurred between Chinese and what I guessed to be a Mogol language drifted along without the need of any makeshift drumming Matsumoto or I could provide. At one point, I felt the need to join her, in a song I had heard on the noisy streets of San Francisco between the creaks of the trolley-cars and jaunting hills. But I felt her version and mine had both years and miles of difference between them, and mine simply did not fit with hers. So I dropped it, and she continued to sing until she was satisfied.

I began to tap again, nervously, this time. Even though this had just as much a beat as my first random act, this felt as if it could start no song.

"Why don't you try to sing, too?" Momo asked, glowing. "It's a really good release, you know. Don't be so macho about it, go on!"

"I… have a terrible voice. It's been destroyed by-" And as I was about to say, 'Lowering it to the point of it not being recognizable', Matsumoto cut me off.

"Yelling at your subordinates a little too much." And with that, she grabbed my head under her arm and proceeded with the most undignified messing of my hair. Nobody, unless I say so, touches **_my_** hair. It was one thing, almost two weeks ago, when I needed it cut and she did it. Now I was mad. And nobody makes me mad, because I will severely torture him or her beyond the threshold of pain.

"Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away…" I knew my voice was bad enough to probably shatter my glasses.

Matsumoto cut in. "And a Christmas song is all you can come up with?"

"You know it?"

"And how do you… wait, you were American, so there was bound to be some Christmas celebrations near you, at least. "

"Right, very perceptive," I retorted sarcastically. As if half of my life story hadn't already gotten around the entire seventeenth district.

"What's Christmas?" This was Momo. I could not help but stifle a laugh. Even though my own family had not been Christian, I at least knew enough. I realized Momo and I had grown up under very different circumstance.

"Why don't we just sing the song?" Did Matsumoto really tolerate my voice enough to want me to start over again?

I sighed, but reluctantly acquiesced, restarting the song. Matsumoto joined in, our two polar-opposite dialects of the same language mixing with the words while Momo listened and learned. She quickly picked up Matsumoto's part and took it over, while my vice-captain started singing my lead role, and I switched to another (less taxing) part.

What would the tenth division, no, all of Seirentei think if they found out one captain and two vice-captains, in the middle of autumn, on some random back street, wandering through Rukongai, were belting out Christmas carols? What would Captain Unohana say? Or Captain Soi Fong? And why didn't I care what they thought of me anymore?

At the highest point of her bellowing crescendo, Matsumoto suddenly stopped what she was doing. "We need some snow," she mused softly, like it was the most normal thing to be thinking about right then.

Snow? Until I had come to the afterlife, I had never seen it before, and its connection to Christmas was something I had only heard in songs belted out from scratched records in department stores, in the few times my mother took me with her to get something in one of these behemoths of commerce during winter. Christmas was lost to me besides the spirit of it, really, but I respected Matsumoto's fevor.

Yet, I respected her wish, and drew Hyorinmaru from the sheath at my back while out of her peripheral vision. A gentle cascade of white followed, and we all hummed in unison until nightfall.

Matsumoto's eyes, and even Momo's too, looked like those seen only on a child who had first seen a snowfall.

Now where had I heard that comment before?


	11. 10 14 06

**Continuity Note**

Thanks to **Lady Azar de Tameran**, my fifth reviewer! Woot! Sometime in the (probably distant) future, when I get ten reviews, I plan to do an amusing side story involving Hitsugaya trying to teach English to Hinamori. (By the way, has anyone figured out when Hitsugaya lived? There are more than enough clues to point to a decade, and soon you should be able to guess the year she died)

In response to your question, **Lady Azar**, since this is Hitsugaya's log, she really doesn't know why she's traveling. The original intent, according to the Fourth of October, was to retrace her steps. However, the "real" reason why Hinamori suggested it was lost between the lines- but her idea was to give Hitsugaya a grace period to stew over her unusual situation. Two vice-captains now know her secret, and while they still trusted Hitsugaya for this, what about the others? People do look at you differently when you deliberately hide something huge for a long time. If Hitsugaya falsifies her gender, what else is a ruse?

Hinamori actually did the smartest thing in offering the journey to Hitsugaya. Originally, as she mentioned, it was only just for Aki, but when Hitsugaya asked Momo to join her, the stipulation of having Matsumoto was put in place so Hinamori could deliberately lag behind, giving the two of them an opportunity to heal old wounds.

Vietnam War vets and (to a lesser extent and usually through virtual reality machines) Iraq vets suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome (PTSS) are sometimes sent back to the country where they served so that they can put themselves back together and learn to live a normal life. That's essentially what's going on here. As you have noticed, Hitsugaya seems to have loosened up a little since leaving Seirentei, but what happens when she returns 'home'?

**IMPORTANT CULTURE NOTE**- 'Aniki' is a term used to describe one of the new characters in this chapter. It comes from 'ani', or older brother, and is a term of rough endearment towards an older brother, gang boss, or group leader. In the Bleach manga/anime, Ganjyu is called this by his peers. 'Boss' really doesn't encompass the affection displayed in the Japanese word, so I opted for 'aniki' instead.

**Enjoy!**

Tenth Moon, Fourteenth Sun, Sixth Year (Sun)

My stomach growled. We had made an amazing pace the day before, and were nearing the seventieth district. We stormed through about thirty districts on the Thirteenth Sun and another ten or so the next morning, and we were on such a roll that nobody had stopped to think about eating. As it neared noon, I remembered a small hellhole tavern I used to go to after Momo had taken me under her wing, but before I entered the academy. Like a child that clings to an abusive parent, I did not want to leave the general area that I had lived in until I would leave Rukongai for good, and in the process had discovered this dirty little stopover that was frequented by the shinigami who worked in that area. Almost all of them, I discovered later, were tenth division members coming back from situating the unlucky ones into the afterlife in these far reaching locations.

We were very close, and I thought it might be a good idea to eat there, until I recalled the last time I'd run into members of my own division. But wasn't I supposed to be doing field research with Matsumoto anyway? I dropped my pack without an explanation, furiously searching for the most androgynous clothing I had. After finding a plain blue men's kimono and a pair of white hakama, I grabbed the entire roll of bandages from the first aid kit as well. I yelled behind me a hasty "Explain in a minute, okay?" and ran to the bushes to change, my thoughts only on the prospect of some impassibly delicious 'commoner's' food. I left my friends' puzzled faces behind me, but before they could sort out what I had done, I returned, folding my other clothing back into my pack and strapping on my sword.

"What the… Captain, what exactly are you doing?" Matsumoto asked.

"You hungry?" I shot back, trying to regain my deepened voice. It sounded a little off, but if I decided to talk like that for the rest of the way, it would probably revert before we reached the destination.

"…Quite."

"There's a restaurant you'll like not to far from here, but it's frequented by members of the tenth division."

A few seconds of silence ensued, and then the light bulbs clicked on. Matsumoto and Momo both fell into peals of laughter.

"What?"

"Your voice sounds terrible. And your hair is in a bob. Boys do not have bobs." Momo said between her outbursts. She opened her own pack and threw me a container of hair wax and I quickly leaned forward and forced the loose strands of white into brutal submission.

"Any better?" I asked.

"Well of course," Matsumoto jeered, giving me a shot in the ribs with her elbow. "Miss (_cough_) Captain, you already look enough like a boy to pass as one."

"I am under the assumption that that was supposed to be an insult."

"Why-ever would you think that?"

I groaned. Maybe this was a stupid idea.

_Later_ I grabbed the oilcloth flap and pulled it aside, letting a stream of light enter the disgusting place. Matsumoto and Momo looked only mildly surprised at the squalor, but very surprised at the number of black-robed people sitting at low benches, hunched over various plates of tantalizing dishes.

"No money, no food, assholes!" barked a familiar voice. Akira. I had hoped he was still working here, or else I probably would have walked out. I stifled a laugh, and the greasy chef came out from behind a counter with a very large knife in his right hand. Or rather, paw. Akira is a menacingly large dog-spirit with an attitude that somehow surpassed his scarred face.

"And that's the way you greet a snot nosed kid you used to extort money from, er, I mean an old friend?" I shot the towering man a death glare that was just shy of killing.

"Ya mutt," he growled, swinging the knife inches from my face. I remained unfazed, and it was only by my non-action that Matsumoto and Momo knew that he really had no intentions of hurting me. "Did I not tell ya to never show me yer ugly face again until ya became a shinigami, ya ass?"

This statement arose the interest of many of the patrons, and one hesitatingly mentioned, "Aniki, he is a shinigami. …Actually…"

"Actually what?" Akira shot his own glare of death into the poor girl who spoke up.

"Hitsugaya is our captain. That's the highest rank a shinigami can be."

"A Captain, huh?" Akira gave me a good once-over with an eye. "Well, I guess I'll just have to clear a table for the pompous douche and his mistresses, won't I?" He hit me hard with his free paw square on my back and gave me the closest equivalent to a smile his canine face could manage. "Good for you!"

We seated ourselves to a horde of watchful shinigami eyes, and plate after plate of food was served. You didn't order at Akira's. He served you until you said you were full, and then he charged you for it. He was always beyond fair, despite the fact that we were in such a terrible district. The only thing you really paid for was the food quality, because Akira didn't give a damn about the upkeep of the shop. (The kitchen, on the other hand, was a different matter. The last thing Akira wanted was his reputation ruined by a single food poisoning.)

He had us there long after the place cleared for lunch and he had closed up before the less hectic trickling of a dinner crowd. When the bill came, a horribly scrawled "I don't need your fucking money" was written instead of a price. After removing his apron and washing the gunk associated with cooking out of his fur, he grabbed a sitting mat and joined the three of us.

"Ass," he stated rather eloquently, grabbing me and pulling me into a hug. Only Akira could make cursing an acceptable art form. He let out a deep sigh and said, "So what have I missed the past three or four decades?"

"Too much," I said after a rather long pause.

"Well, for starters, ya got yourself a nice little mess of hormones. Ya got yer period right now, if my nose ain't fooling me."

The shade of red I must have turned probably created a new primary color. Stifled snickers came from my two traveling companions. So what if I did? I never understood why or how one could give birth in Soul Society, but it did help replenish souls that had been removed from the endless cycle. Anyway, the two of them probably had to deal with a yearly period, too.

Yet, I had no idea how to respond, but with Akira I didn't have to. "Poor mutt," he continued. "There's way too many girls like you resorting to what you do. I thought ya had the sense to figure out a way t' stop it. Or are ya still looking? If ya need a place to stay, ya can sleep and eat here. I gets me a lot of rumors floating through this place. O'course I knew ya was a Captain long before ya showed up today. I was just waiting for ya to try coming home."

Way too many? With his nose, Akira could easily sniff out the difference, I thought. So he, too, had known all along. If everyone knew, why was nothing said?

Still, I took Akira's offer without even asking Matsumoto or Momo, they would have done the same. The three of us grabbed out platters and chopsticks and deftly made our way to the kitchen to attack them with soap.

Akira yelled behind us, "Clean yer plates, girls, but don't in flippin hell touch my knives…

…assholes!"


	12. Lighten Up!

**Comment Replies**

I guess I'll have that side story up by the end of this week. I wasn't expecting so many people to review!

To **2Stupid**- The mental image you have given me is now permanently burned in the back of my skull. Gee, thanks. (Laughing) But thanks for reading! Hope you are enjoying it! PS- If you like Hitsugaya in an apron so much, you might enjoy this chapter.

To **LadyAzar**- Thanks again. I always try to respond. If something like Hitsugaya's albinism is mentioned and then shrugged off like that, you can bet your soul (pun intended) that it IS going to be important, or at least brought up again, at some point later.

And as for Akira? (Evil grin) I love this guy to death, and wait until you meet someone far more insane- his wife! Akira, like Hyorinmaru, is a really fun character for me. Because he is a dog spirit, talking is actually really difficult for him, so what you read in the last chapter is (95 of the time) the most he will ever say at any given point. And, the reason why he never actually said anything about Hitsugaya is rather simple- and you'll find that out shortly, as well as why Hitsugaya failed being a shinigami three times before even entering the Academy, despite her (his!) reputation as a genius (That one is not in this chapter, however).

**Enjoy!**

Tenth Moon, Fifteenth Sun, Sixth Year (Moon)

I woke up early, infuriated from the night before. Honestly, as much as I had liked and appreciated Akira, why couldn't he have told me? I put my hand over my face trying to block everything out, and I was greeted with an absolutely horrifying smell. Not strong, but I closed my eyes and moved with it, trying to figure out why I smelled this way. I had scrubbed myself clean and Momo's hair wax was odorless, so what caused this? It was then that it hit me- this smell is the stench of a period. Because it was my own, I never really took notice, but oddly enough, soon after mine ended, the office where Matsumoto and I worked smelled like this one week a year. I didn't start getting my period until about twenty years ago or so (and figuring out exactly what the heck had been going on with my body was an adventure in and of itself); maybe it was possible that Akira simply didn't know before yesterday. Although I had not openly shown my distaste, I still felt bad for distrusting him. Not everyone in this world was out there to make me look like an absolute idiot. I had a generally good idea of how I could at least alleviate my guilt.

It was rather likely we would be here for a week or more. Now that we were only four districts away, only five or ten minutes of light shun-po would bring me to my hometown whenever I wanted, and I could return here in under two minutes in a pinch. Getting back to Seirentei would be an all out run for two days, it had already been decided. Fifty districts we expected to storm through on the Second Sun of the Eleventh Moon, and the last twenty would be taken care of on the Third to prevent exhaustion. We'd then have one day of rest before returning to our duties. If we were in a real hurry, we could half-run half-shun-po and return to Seirentei in a matter of hours, but none of us wished to resort to this.

For now, however, I had my silent apology to attend to. Day of the Moon was Akira's busiest day of the week, as for some reason people seemed to die more often on Day of the Sun than any other day, bringing shinigami to the area in larger numbers than usual, and in turn, a larger number of customers. I was not yet ready to venture back to the seventy-sixth district, regardless of my proximity, and I decided to use the day to help Akira like I did before becoming a shinigami in the first place.

Before either Momo or Matsumoto even awoke, I hurried down to the kitchen, already dressed and made up as a boy. I could smell whatever vegetables Akira was deciding to fry for his customers today, as well as three trays already laden with our breakfasts. A fourth set of bowls was haphazard in the basin, not yet washed.

Akira knew I was coming long before I did, grunting slightly shocked at the sight of me still retaining my disguise. "Ya don't havfta…" he started, before realizing the number of my own subordinates that went in and out of his shop on a daily basis. Despite his tongue, his brain is sharper than many educated shinigami, through experience alone. He decided to rephrase his statement. "I make sure nobody even puts a paw in this place before eleven, bitch. If ya needed to go out for the day, s'long as you come in through the rear on return, nobody's gonna see ya."

I stood adamantly in front of him and replied, "I'm not leaving today. I'm here to help you."

He snorted, a large puff of air erupting out. This was the way that Akira laughed. "So yer gonna be my bitch, asshole?"

"Looks like it," I said, trying not to laugh myself. He shook his head, his fur puffing up everywhere, and after a long moment of holding in my breath like a fugu we both broke out hysterically.

"Fine. But yer serving. I don't want ya getting hair in my damn food!"

"Yes sir!" I replied, giving him a mock salute.

_Later_ What would be your reaction if you walked into your favorite restaurant, only to find the chef barking orders at your Captain, balancing platters of food often larger than your own commanding officer? To the mass numbers of working shinigami, I was an oddity, taking the strings of curses in stride, for being "too damn slow that the plates backed up" one minute or "too damn fast for him to dish out food" the next. Many did a double take when I came around to their low benches with teapots, lighting the small recess in the middle of the table and placing the ceramic on top to heat. At the beginning all said nothing, probably because they truly were unsure as to whom I was, out of official robe and my red kimono's sleeves rolled up and tied back to reveal a pair of muscular arms. I am small and scrawny, but most certainly not weak.

After about fifteen minutes of the shop opening, one young shinigami, straight from the Academy finally got the courage to break the unnatural silence.

"Are you, umm, Captain Hitsugaya Toushirou… sir?" he asked, just a degree above a whisper.

"Yes," I responded simply. "And you are Kazuya Jounouchi." This was a statement, not a question. He had been in the advanced group I hand-picked for my division two months ago, and with his hair dyed fluorescent green at the tips, he wasn't that easy to forget.

He however, did not respond so simply. "I AM HONORED TO BE IN YOUR PRESENCE AGAIN, SIR! ALTHOUGH I WONDER WHY YOU ARE HERE… doing… this…" he said slowly trailing off and retaking his seat as Akira growled loud enough to frighten a Hollow.

"Hitsugaya!" Akira yelled at me, for the first time since I had returned actually using my name. "Get yer damn skinny ass back here and bring this out t' the table with Private Baldy in the left corner. Now!"

At this the taking started (although mere whispers), and I ran back and grabbed the platter of octopus tentacles he thrust at me with a smirk. "Let 'em flip ya off too, so long as it doesn't get t' ya personally. Give 'em a chance to blow some steam."

"Huh?" I questioned.

"Trust me on this one. I betcha nindy per-cent of these douchebags have never met ya, but some of them talk about ya like ya personally was a-breathing down their backs. If you give 'em a reason t' cuss ya to yer face, their morale will skyrocket." He stopped and gave me a genuine smile.

"NOW MOVE IT YA DOUCHEBAG, HITSUGAYA, OR I'LL CHOP YA IN TWO AND SERVE YA TO THE CUSTOMERS!" he bellowed and ushered me out of the kitchen, knife swinging mere centimeters behind me for added effect. At this, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs- Momo, Matsumoto, or both- but right now I had other matters to take care of.

Like the entire patronage laughing at me.

"You really going to take that, Cap'n 'Gaya?" one rowdily asked me, finally loosened up by the cook's complete 'detestation' of me. He held up his teacup like a toast. Wither it was to me or to Akira I couldn't tell.

I ignored the comment and simply replied, "I'm doing some independent research on traveling within Rukongai. I will not be reporting back into my office until the fifth. I am currently neither employed nor on duty." I set down the tray with finality, and went back to the kitchen upon another string of curses, this time a slightly muffled female voice. Momo. Akira really was trying to rile up the shinigami eating their lunches. It was probably very amusing entertainment for them.

The next time I came out of the kitchen, one of the girls, a rather shy one who would often run the other direction if she even so much as saw me, yelled in my face, "So nothing here goes on the books?"

"Nothing," I replied simply, still pretending to look completely disinterested, despite how funny I found this whole circus to be. "Whatever you chose to do here has no bearing outside. If you have something you wish to say to me, say so. I won't hold anything against you."

I leaned forward to put down the tray; in doing so, she spat on my face.

The only thing that ran through my mind was that I was glad I was not wearing my glasses.

As I went to receive the next platter from the kitchen, the innumerable insults began to fly. Entering the back room, Matsumoto was already ready with a wet washcloth, trying to contain her own humor. Through the brief impasses between the kitchen and the main room I was able to let small hisses of laughter escape me. My subordinates were finally getting the opportunity to indulge in the biggest taboo, and all I could think about how funny it was that I was the indirect target of all their petty problems.

Because, as Kazuya Jounouchi griped as he handed me the payment for his table's lunch and walked out, I certainly did **_not_** steal his girlfriend.

**Did Anyone Catch…? (Historical and Other References Used in FLWFLI)**

Sixth Sun- "**congee**" Congee (the English word for this dish, sometimes translated as rice porridge) is a very typical Japanese/Chinese breakfast food. It's similar to oatmeal but made of rice. When I was in Japan, I had it for breakfast just about every day. Despite having a very heavy carbohydrate diet, I lost well over five pounds in my first week of being there. They eat a lot more fresh vegetables, especially at breakfast. On that note, I tried natto (fermented sticky soybeans) one morning and would recommend this very healthy food only to extreme sadists. That stuff is disgusting. I had to drink half a pot of very strong, bitter ocha (green tea) just to wash out the taste. My teacher had a very good laugh at this, but my breath still stunk afterwards.

Sixth Sun- "**Heike something-or-other**" The Tale of the Heike is one of the most famous pieces of classical Japanese literature. It follows the Gempei (alternate spelling: Genpei) War, a real war between the then current Emperor and his supporters versus the retired Emperor and his supporters that marked the end of the Heian period and brought about the samurai and the shogun of the Kamakura period. It's a great read, if you can handle a lot of names and titles thrown at you. It even has a famous female warrior who reminds me a little too much of Soi Fong. Most of the passages from this book have been turned into Kabuki, Noh, and, of course, anime and manga. The warriors who overran Soul Society, according to Captain Kyoraku's description, were from the Taira family. (I heart history.)

Seventh Sun "**Air China/China Air**" Air China and China Air are actually two very different plane companies. However, Peking and Beijing are the same city; Peking is the old English pronunciation.

Fourteenth Sun- "**pompous douche**" Douche (or douche bag) is a rather nasty curse word that is actually the name of a vaginal cleaner (seriously, look it up). Akira chooses this to refer to Hitsugaya long before he actually sits down with her. I just thought it would be a rather amusing subconscious thing for Akira to do; of all the choice words he could have used on the captain, he picked this one, before pinpointing the fact that Hitsugaya was a woman. Okay, so my humor is a bit strange. I just happen to be a fan of subtle irony.

Fifteenth Sun- "**fugu**" Fugu is a type of poisonous blowfish that is a Japanese delicacy. Once the poison-creating organs are removed, the fish is safe to eat. It's rather expensive, but the taste is a little bland, from what I hear. I just wanted a little bit of irony in this statement, comparing Hitsugaya's face to a fugu while she works in a restaurant.


	13. The Experiment Part One

**Happy Halloween!**

**Sin of Otaku**- Thanks! Glad you're enjoying it!

**BlackGeta**- Thank you for stopping by again! A little info on the Tale of Genji: this novel by Murasaki Shikibu was written during the peak of the Heian period. However, the Tale of the Heike was about how the rule by the Heian court ended, ushering the Kamakura era. In other words, the Tale of the Heike was written long after Miss Murasaki (yes, she was a woman, most novelists in her time were) was dead. You might want to go back and re-read your translation of Genji again, as seeing the word Heike would have been physically impossible. Maybe the word you saw was Hei**an**, both the name of the era when she lived and the capital of Japan at the time (now named Kyoto)?

**Lady Azar**- 1. That, my friend, is left entirely up to your imagination. And 2. Duly noted. I went back and cut quite a bit out of my author's notes. But I'm not going to delete them entirely. As of now, over the entire piece, they're only 3,000 words or so out of almost 20,000.

For those of you that care, **Happy Halloween**! I finished sewing my costume on Thursday- I'm going as Urahara Kisuke ("Hat and Clogs" or "Sandal-Hat") back when he was the twelfth division captain. :-)

**Enjoy!**

Tenth Moon, Sixteenth Sun, Sixth Year (Fire)

Once again, I awoke quite early. I had fallen asleep in my clothes last night, I presumed, as I was still in them the following morning. A light cotton kimono- one of Norainu's- was wrapped around me as a makeshift blanket. I knew it had to be because of the large hole in the lower half for a tail. I lifted the fabric off me and quietly went downstairs. It was still dark.

"Wanko," a voice mumbled softly. Puppy. Only one person ever referred to me as such, and the source of the voice came to greet me. All fifty kilograms of bone and muscle jumped on me- (I weighed a mere forty-five) and promptly used my stomach as a bed, and as such we were eye to eye.

Norainu was not a dog spirit, or at least did not take a bipedal form like Akira most of the time. The nickname, meaning stray dog, described this gargantuan to a T. Blue eyes and white fur shone forth, and if my memory was correct, Norainu was a Samoyed.

I reached up and scratched Norainu's secret spot behind the right ear, and promptly received a face bath. "Where have you been?" I asked.

"Here since nine last night. Where have _you_ been, _Captain_? Serving food to your cronies?" Norainu rolled off me and I reached forth and started attacking the stomach of the beast with my peeling hands. "And I hope you folded my kimono back up instead of just leaving it on the floor. Your two friends had to help get you in bed last night, after what you drank."

"That tea had sake? No wonder I can't remember anything past eight-thirty. But I didn't smell any alcohol."

"That's Akira for you. Got a hangover? I wouldn't suppose so, you only had a cup and a half. You really can't tolerate your drinks."

I sighed. From Norainu, even genuine concern seemed to come off as a semi-sarcastic joke. "I think I'm fine, but I'm going now."

"Alone or with an escort?"

"I'm going alone the first time. I'm taking Momo's shinigami robes. I'm going to enter this time as Captain."

"The first time? Are you going to visit it more than once?" Norainu questioned with uncertainty.

"Again as a noble lady, like when Momo found me, then as what I once was, and, lastly, as I truly am. Not flashy, but not poor, women's clothes."

"An experiment?"

"Yes."

"You're the calculating type. I thought you would handle things like that. That final time will be the most dangerous. Either I go with you, your two friends follow at a good pace behind, or my husband goes. That oaf Akira knows how to transform just as well as I."

"Well, I'll be back before nightfall."

"Hitsugaya?"

"Yes?"

"For a drunk, you are **_not_** that much fun. All you did was get tired and slump over, although it was rather enjoyable to poke you. Your tall friend, however…"

I cut her off. I did not need to hear another 'wasted Matsumoto' story, even if this one was not a rumor. "Just don't tell me. I don't need to know."

"She drank twelve cups and was still perfectly sober. Twelve cups of Akira's homebrewed stuff, no less. I swear you'd have to inject that woman with alcohol before she'd ever come close to giddy."

Go figure.

_Later- _After changing and spiking my hair, I gave Norainu one last scratch behind the ear, and she rolled over, lazily content. I tied on my sandals and walked out, breathing in the air and observing the various houses, in disgruntled, poor upkeep. This was my time, not anyone else's, and as I shifted Hyorinmaru's weight on my back just a little to the left, I jumped to the nearest roof that actually seemed to have sound footing and began my rapid pilgrimage six districts outward. I had brought a fairly large wicker pail, filled with small containers of water, sweets, and other various things. Yes, regular souls had no need to indulge in food, but that did not mean that they could not enjoy the taste. One thing I refused to bring was ryo. In a small bentou, I packed a light lunch, so I had no need to carry large sums of money. A few minor coins in various denominations I strung together and tied into my hakama (Momo's hakama, but no difference), and I reached Sobamori-shi, the town in the seventy-sixth district where I had once resided, with little difficulty.

I alighted down, and, in doing so, doors began to shut and snap closed. Curtains, if they existed, were drawn. This I expected. A group of children, one step above naked, were running toward me. No- actually- they were chasing another child, who was carrying a bucket of water like his life depended upon it. Seeing my sword, he used me as a shield and ran behind me, panting.

The other children hastily followed, but stopped at the sight of me.

"Shinigami," one retorted, the word rolling off his tongue like a curse. He looked strangely familiar.

"What is this about? Water?"

"S'got nothing to do with the likes of you. Get lost, little man, this is our turf. Go back to your servants and palaces." He did look older than me by the living standards of five or seven years; alive, he could have been placed at eighteen or nineteen. He was also a good half-meter taller.

"Funny," I said, as it dawned on me who this person was, "Ryuuou, I don't live in a palace or have a single assistant in my house. I work six days a week and usually spend the seventh catching up on what I should have done in six, but no sane person can do. But if your little squabble is about this boy's water," I added, turning to look at the frightened child grasping the pail for dear life, "I think I have a solution."

"Shirou?"

"No, really…"

"Shirou!"

"Yes…"

"Where the hell have you been, man? Who'd you steal those clothes from? You wanna share the wealth?"

"Well, the least I can do is give you idiots some water. And…" I trailed off, then dropped my basket and threw a package of fresh dorayaki- sweet red-bean buns- at him. "If you wanna split these fairly, we can all sit and talk for a while."


	14. Side Story: In English

**Side Story- Momo Learns English**

Tenth Moon, Fifth Sun, Sixth Year (Wood)

As I was just about to put my logbook away, Momo came up and peered over my shoulder. I thought both she and Matsumoto were asleep.

"What's this?" she asked. "Keeping a dairy?"

"Just a travel account. Nothing incredible," I replied honestly. Anything scandalous contained within its pages Matsumoto and Momo knew about already, anyways, so if they read it I wouldn't have a problem.

Momo peered closer and inspected the pages, flipping between them. "I couldn't read this if I wanted to. What kind of words are these?" she asked pointing to my scrawl. "And these?"

"I write in a shorthand style called division-script. Only for personal documents, though."

"Oh, when you write words in the shortest form, based on the languages you know? I find that too confusing, I just write in plain Japanese. Wait a second… weren't you the one that invented this kind of shorthand? I remember seeing a book on it in the fifth division library."

"So what if I was? That doesn't change anything, now, does it?"

"Tight-ass genius." To this my eye twitched, but I had the common sense to know it was Momo's sideways humor. She quickly went back to my writing. "This I recognize," she said pointing at a character. "It's 'mother.' Why did you use the Chinese character for it? It's more complex than the Japanese one."

"I have trouble writing those characters that look like squashed boxes, like 'mother', 'every', and 'ocean'." _(Just writing that last sentence gave me a hernia.)_

"You have trouble writing the 'woman' character, too, you know. Yours looks like an upside-down triangle with legs."

"It's not as bad as my 'mother'. Wait, that came out very wrong." Momo chuckled, and I couldn't help but giggle a little myself. Wait, me? Giggle?

"But what's this?"

"Anal."

"Ay-nahl? What language is that?"

"English. It means _shibutoi_."

Momo laughed. "So whom were you referring to as 'ay-nahl'?"

"Myself."

"Ay-nahl," she repeated, trying to get the word to roll, but it was too thick and sat in her mouth like a lump. "It sounds weird."

"English is a rather guttural language. It is a mix of Germanic and French roots, so it is highly irregular. 'Anal' really isn't the first word you should be learning."

"So what is?"

I had to think about that for a second. Hello? Nah. My name is…? Too bland. I finally figured out the first word I really wanted to teach her.

"Thank you. It means _arigatou_."

"Thaink yoo…"


	15. Title Page

**Sorry for the delay. :-( Looong story (no pun intended)… Anyways,**

**NaNoWriMo!**

November is National Novel Writer's Month! Sharpen those pencils and write 50,000 words before midnight on November 30! Surprise your parents! Shock your friends! Actually…learn something? GET CRACKING! If any of you out there want to write an expansive fanfiction like I have done and need a historical accuracy check (and not just Japanese history), drop me a line. I also teach shoudou, or Japanese calligraphy, and can write up pages in kanji.

On that note, I'm taking passages of my story and writing them out as Hitsugaya would. The very first entry is on my Geocities, but for some reason it won't let me type the link. There are actually a few English words mixed with Japanese and Chinese! MMO is the way Hitsugaya refers to Matsumoto here- she's too lazy to write the kanji. It reads left to right going down, and the first full line is the date. When I do future passages, the symbol for Hinamori will be a tree kanji, as Mori means forest, and her first name (Peach) has the tree symbol in it, too. On that note, I did a portrait of Hitsugaya (without glasses) so I'll try to link it somehow.

Also, that last chapter was the side story I had promised. From now on, every 25 reviews I plan to take a break from the storyline and write another. LOOK AT THE DATE. That side story's setting actually took place way back on Oct. 5. Most of them will not correspond with the current storyline date.

By the way this chapter is **SUPPOSED** to be confusing. Hitsugaya's just not thinking clearly, and it's affecting the way she writes. I could have written this chapter coherently, but that would defeat the purpose. It will resume the standard "Hitsugaya style" soon enough, I promise.

**Enjoy!**

Tenth Moon, Seventeenth Sun, Sixth Year (Fire)

Fuck this.

Pardon my language, but I have never been so outraged in my life. Ever. At whom?

Myself.

Human emotions- they're not things to be measured and quantified. They can't just be laid out on a graph or scale. They exist precisely because they are irrational. And I thought I could experiment with them. That is both irrational in and of itself and an insult to the emotions that I aimed to study. Thus I fled.

I stayed with my boys, yes, MY boys, the people whom had saved my life and were now on the brink of losing theirs, until a fluffy white dog grabbed the seat of my (Momo's) hakama and promptly dragged me off into the woods.

"Imbecile," Norainu hissed, while simultaneously licking my face to clean a trickle of blood (which had occurred in the process of her dragging by my head hitting a branch, and, surprisingly, not the dangers of the region).

"I've been hearing that quite often lately," I groaned, using my real voice. In the past three days or so, the switch had become easier and easier to manage, which slightly disturbed me.

She sighed, and laid her head in my lap, lazily looking up at me. I knew she was anything but slothful, for it was she who sparred with me in days long gone by when Momo could not. Aside from her husband, I may have been the only one to witness her in anything resembling a human from. And she most certainly knew how to simultaneously kill me and clean up the blood.

"Hitsugaya…" she started, trying to figure out what she was trying to say. "I followed you all day. I don't like those boys. Actually, I do like them, but not what they do. I can't despise anyone who resorts to such filth to save themselves, even at the cost of others, because I know that a long time ago, I had to, too. But there is a limit, and they have long since crossed it. I want you to go back to Seirentei and stop playing these stupid games."

"Human emotion is not something I can experiment with."

"You've learned your lesson. Now get packing and leave."

"But…!"

"Go stew over your petty gender issues back in your own house."

"I'm a girl," I said defiantly. A few weeks ago I'm not quite sure how I would have responded.

"Which is the problem. You doubt."

"No I don't!"

"Whether you doubt it or not, the fact remains that you now have an inkling of a thought of your role as a person. You were certain of who you were before- a boy in gender but not sex. Now you know otherwise. If you were the first, I would have let you go through with what you tried to do, like the man who decides to dress in drag once for a masquerade."

"Why is my certainty a problem?"

"You are acting different."

"So?" Norainu was sending my logic in Mobius strips, loops that when cut, created more endless linked loops. It was as if there was some paramount piece of information I was lacking for our conversation to flow smooth, but she was a woman who already assumed that everyone around her understood what she was saying.

"Rape."

She'd finally spoken the phrase I missed. Usually it took a full ten minutes of bickering before she realized the one item that she never said that made everything make sense. This was a record, about three, maybe four. Now that she'd mentioned it, that had been my very first retort at Momo, but it was said with a defensive hollowness that was easily said and tossed aside. I never really feared being raped. I knew what it was, sure, but the sound of having a man jump upon you and… well… it was just so far removed from myself it became a nonfactor.

"You're not a man anymore, Hitsugaya. You're a little girl. Not defenseless, but naive."

She escorted me back to the tavern, not saying anything more, leaving me to my thoughts that were shooting around in my head like a tsunami. Yet when I took pen to paper this eve in silence, having spoken with no one, having eaten nothing, my words froze like a sheet of frost, unable to fall properly and coherently on the page. I looked down upon my 'Fuck this' with incredible disdain.

Thoughts flowing like water yet frozen like ice. The paradox I was left to solve in silence.

_Addendum (appended several hours later)- _At this, I leaned back and closed my eyes. I was mentally fatigued by the boys and their pressures for me to steal- food, shinigami robes, even swords. Norainu was right- I didn't feel the same way about them as I had the decades ago when I lived with them. There was a separation. As I started to sink into the first disgruntled stages of sleep, a howl halted my half slumber. I was nudged on the shoulder. Hard. As I jolted up, I realized…

…I was underwater. And I could breathe just fine.

Hyorinmaru.

A fin, a flash of scales.

_Aki_.

The voice was different, deeper. It penetrated me with an awe-inducing roar. The curl of a seahorse tail was nonexistent on this beast. He was almost my own height now, and a definite conglomerate of seahorse and true dragon. His face still showed signs of childhood, but the snout was sleeker, more defined.

_Aki. Your mind is troubled, and thus you are confused. I cannot even surface._

"Why are you so large?"

_As you grow up, so do I. But enough of this, my friend, let us go up and fight the demons that plague your thoughts,_

"I never took such a thing to be a literal problem."

_To you it is a mere trifle, but to me, it threatens my entire existence. Calm yourself, and take arms against your worry. You have a power, and it lies within people who care for you. I have mentioned, have I not, to not dwell on the past? What did I say you should do when you arrive here?_

_This was your home, but it is no longer. You can return to Seirentei now, or you can forge a new life. But even here, you can do so, just not as a shinigami._

"You're right," I said, looking to my familiar and then to the water's turbulent surface. "One problem at a time. Let's get this mess cleaned up first. And then I'm going to go slap Norainu."


	16. Unthawed and Awake

**I apologize**

Low frequency of updates is what you get when you're in college two weeks before finals. I finish the 11th of December, so hopefully I will return to a daily update, at least until the 26th. That's when I leave for Beijing, and I won't be back in the States till sometime in February. I'm not joking. And considering the nature of the Chinese government, I don't know what the access to the Internet is like- many sites like Google and Yahoo are altered or banned. If this website isn't troublesome and the service is fast enough, I'll do some posting from the other side of the planet! I will also be going to Japan a little after that for a few months, but I will certainly have no Net concerns there.

**Culture Side Note**- "Daruma"/ "Yukidaruma" A Daruma is a Japanese wishing doll, usually a red, black and white ball shaped thing, and it comes without pupils. You color in one eye when you make a wish, and the other when it is granted. However, daruma can also be the shortened form for _yuki_daruma, which is a snowman (or creature). The name probably comes from the balls stacked to create the figure, but that's just speculation.

**Enjoy!**

Tenth Moon, Eighteenth Sun, Sixth Year (Water)

Water indeed. I shot up drenched, soaked to the bone and shivering, an impossible mix of icicles dangling from my hair and face and near freezing sweat (never mind that saltwater has a lower freezing point). The only time I dripped with icicles was from bankai, and I never transformed, as far as I knew.

If I had not been so absentminded two weeks ago, the only water I would have seen was from cleaning off, cooking, and tending my garden on my day off. I would never have even imagined this.

I pulled myself into a half-lotus and began to breathe steady, feeling my own warmth controlled, slowly seeping around as I meditated to regain my own body heat. I heard the hiss as the ice melted off my body and dripped in miniature torrents on the un-maintained wooden floor of Akira's hose. When I felt satisfied that the bulk had been evaporated, I rose.

I hoped Norainu hadn't run off to who-knows-where again because I seriously meant what I had said.

I tied off a jade-colored women's kimono- no hakama this time- and clumsily lumbered down the stairs. Walking without hakama was awkward- at home I didn't care if the bottom flaps of my kimono flared up- but here was a different story. I sighed, missed a step, and ungracefully fell the rest of the way, landing ass-up at the foot of the stairs. Something about this situation made me think of the sixth division captain- a man far more uptight than I could ever even be accused of being. He was the kind of person who would just give you a glare for mangling an entrance so much, but would wordlessly stand in front of you to block the view of onlookers until you regained your composure. He was a bastard, in the sincerest sense of the word. Something I didn't like, but respected nonetheless. And a man, who was about as far from this Captain Kuchiki as was humanly (doggedly?) possible was graciously doing that very thing.

"Full moon ain't till the twentieth, bitch. Pull yer skirt down," a gruff voice half chuckled. "I don't need t' be seein that this early in the mornin'."

I acknowledged him with a nod but ignored his comment. "Where's your wife?"

"Here," she mumbled lazily, lying next to the fire pit.

"You," I started, slightly shakily. "You… come outside with me."

She twitched her right ear, say up and shook her fur until it puffed out and we walked (rather, I walked, she trotted) out by the old maple tree. I could see the remnants of this year's watermelon harvest left to rot in the fields to make compost for next year's seeds, and almost felt sorry for what I was about to do. Even with me being home, I realized, my own flowers and small plants would be in the exact same stage as these, withered and quickly rotting just before winter. Yes, winters here were not 'cold' in the standard sense of the word, but the plants of the afterlife worked in the same way as living ones did.

Before what had been my only true friends for the longest time- the watermelons I had helped grow and raise- I struck her.

It was quick and almost silent. I thought it would have been more dramatic, made more noise. But it was over. One time, across the muzzle.

"Thank you," I said flatly.

"You done?" she asked, coking her head.

I sat down, very childishly, and the leaves, freshly fallen from the tree, jumped as I thudded to the ground, like religious fanatics parting in the wake of a sinner.

"Your husband was right, that did feel good."

""I was waiting for you to do something like that, you know."

"You… what?"

She licked me and I could almost see a smile. "In relation to everyone else here, you're a child just on the verge of puberty, one that can take decades. You're a tween, and you've never had an outlet to free yourself from your family or fid your identity, because neither exists for you."

"Rebelling against authority is normal?" I asked her, being something I had never even considered before. Rebels were people like what my gang had become, and what I had run away from, and nothing more.

"Well, then, Madame, if you've never fought against your ideals, then what are they?"

I had no response. I breathed in short gulps, thinking. Why? Did I have a real motive? No, because I just went through motions. Training, officer exams, then the captain's exam. I followed a pattern I though I should take, completely detached from everything and everyone around me. They called me a genius, while I just worked the system. I had been dead for a total of exactly than fifty-five years this Eleventh Moon, about twenty spent in poverty, two in training, one at the academy (and the only one to do so), half a year as a foot soldier, and another fifteen or twenty spent as a minor official before jumping straight up to Captain. And all of it was worthless.

What exactly had I been doing the last half century? Nothing of real use to anyone- that was for certain. This is what Akira had mentioned the first night I had returned.

"_There's way too many girls like you resorting to what you do. I thought ya had the sense to figure out a way t' stop it. Or are ya still looking? If ya need a place to stay, ya can sleep and eat here. I gets me a lot of rumors floating through this place. O'course I knew ya was a Captain long before ya showed up today. I was just waiting for ya to try coming home."_

He hadn't known beforehand that I was a woman, what he meant when he had said this mere days ago was that he had expected things from me. That a Captain should be able to change the way all of Soul Society ran. That me, a _person_- not mattering whether they be male or female- from such a deranged and ludicrous district where anarchy was law would be able to take their firsthand experience and figure out a way to keep others from having the same degrading experiences.

He expected things from me that I had not delivered.

But that did not mean I couldn't.

After a long hesitation of trying to put together the words I wanted to reply, I finally came as close to a suitable answer as I could muster. "You were right. I slapped you because I thought coming here was the best option for me. I realize now that it really was not the destination that Momo was pushing me toward, but the journey."

"At least you had the sense to realize that. You are a true genius, Hitsugaya. Many people spend their entire lives trying to discover this, and it takes you a little push and a few days."

"And I'm leaving tomorrow for the Seirentei."

"As what, or rather, as whom?"

"As Hitsugaya Toushirou, with the knowledge of a journey taken by Hitsugaya Aki. Seirentei moves too slow, so I want to see what I can do, and do it so slowly that the changes will go unnoticed."

"A spy in your own body, huh… Even I never thought of that…"

"I'm not you."

"Thank God."

_Afternoon/Evening_ I owed karma a large chunk of my soul, so I waited tables again from lunch all the way through dinner. The insults flew harder and faster this time, including some crude, obscene gestures that almost caused my gag reflex to betray me. Fortunately I had the kitchen, and four people who had put their lives aside for me. Matsumoto meant every word. She would take an arrow to the heart for me, if it were what I had wanted. Even these men and women eating and jeering at me would do the same. There was a fire in their eyes; I could see that despite their words and actions their hearts were for their division and what it represented. Now I just had to make this idea an ideal.

It was an elaborate game- that I had known for years. But I needed to stop playing it by the strictest of rules and learn how to cheat. And cheat without the other conmen knowing I was doing it.

I had a purpose.

Thus, I waited tables.

_Night_ As I cracked my neck a few times and sat down to a late and well-deserved dinner, the oilcloth flap opened and the sound of footsteps plodded in.

"Shop's closed," Akira bellowed, not even looking at the door.

"I don't give-a-damn," was the curt reply. "Gimme some food, you useless poodle."

"Don't tell me…" Akira started, as he came out from the kitchen.

"Naw, old man, I passed, but I at least came back to give you a kick in the balls before I go. Thought you deserved it."

"Ren," I cut in, looking up at this lanky, tall platinum blonde. "Is that… you?"

"_Daruma? _Yo!" Ren came up behind me and gave me a good hard whack between my shoulder blades. "What the blazes have you been up to, man? I just passed the Shinigami Entrance Exam!"

"What do you plan to do?" I asked, shuffling over to make room for him. Although he still talked like a gangster, he had cleaned himself up, and actually looked presentable.

"Simple, yo. Become a better Shinigami than you."

"Oh, really?" Matsumoto asked, as she reached for the soy sauce bottle. Ren grabbed it and playfully chucked it at her. She raised an eyebrow, not out of anger, but interest. "You'll have to get past Hitsugaya's _cronies_."

"Harem much?" Ren asked, but I could hear a slight crack in his voice and, being in a similar situation to my own former boss, clicked my tongue and spoke back in my normal voice.

"You know, hot honey syrup will prevent your voice from doing funny things like that, really. Come back with us and I can give you a recipe. Oh, and Ren…"

Ren shot me a look that combined both surprise and utter humiliation, but decided to take three deep breaths and spoke back to me in a voice I had never heard before. Her real voice. "What do you want, you loser?"

"Whoever cut your hair needs to go to hell. And pass me the salt."


	17. Uno Hana

I've been feeling ill all day and missed two of my classes, so now that I'm awake after five hours of sleep I bring you another chapter.

By the way, the last chapter was the end of section one; there are five distinct sections to the story, each a journey. The first I entitled "Dragged by the Ass", the second is "His Gigai", the third is "Aud Lang Syne", the fourth is "Ghost Trolley" and the last is "Carrying Aces".

The titles I give to you here, because each represents one of five different journeys, and you might be able to figure out where each takes place and with whom. There is one major thread that connects the five stories… but you'll just have to wait ad see.

**Culture Side Note**- Writing sewn into fabric was a real practice in some parts of rural China, one that is all but extinct today. Since women were not allowed to read, they made up their own written language and sewed it into the fabric to look like an ordinary pattern, thereby wearing poetry and prose right under the noses of the men!

**Enjoy**

Tenth Moon, Twenty-Second Sun, Sixth Year (Sun)

Four days have already passed. Since Ren was traveling with us, she knew neither shun-po (which was expected- most _shinigami_ can't do it) nor long distance speed running (also expected, as it was not taught at the academy until the second year), so the three of us took turns carrying her, to her initial discontent. Her name really was Ren, I discovered, as there are a number of names in Japanese that are used on both genders. It felt awkward to run with my former boss on my back, on top of my wicker knapsack and Hyorinmaru, but it gave her a good chance to take a look at Hyorinmaru's star-shaped hilt-guard, which undoubtedly almost poked her eye out.

I know what she was thinking. Someday, hopefully soon, her zanpakutou would morph to suit her, and she would discover its name. The quest for knowledge is an all-consuming dragon.

We arrived at the twenty-first district, and parted. The tree of us arriving back at the same time would not be a good idea, so Momo opted to stay four days at home. We took a quick look around her house, exhausted, and ate dumplings and the last of this year's watermelon harvest. I cracked my back, and the three of us left walked four more districts to the seventeenth, and stayed the night again at Matsumoto's family's house. The family from Seattle was arranging for their own house, and I kept my offer about inviting them to dinner, writing out a pass for them to pass through the Seirentei gates. Their shock at seeing me made up as a boy was all but minimal, and they didn't ask questions. My people do have a bit of a history of doing things underground when law forbids, after all- sometimes going so far as to develop their own style of writing sewn into fabric so the men- who forbade them from literacy- would never know they wrote poetry and song. That was the day of Wood.

On the day of Metal, we arrived late at the gates of Seirentei and I set to work bullshitting a report until about four in the morning. Since Ren had yet to move into the dorms, she stayed overnight with me, bringing me hot glasses of tea after she discovered what I had been doing. I shooed her away around one, and made up my futon, the only one I had. Recognizably loud snoring soon ensued. I made a mental note to myself to purchase a few spare ones before the day of Sun, when I expected my company, or better yet purchase at least one that day so I would be able to sleep that night myself.

The day of Earth was hectic. I submitted an elaborate report on work ethic to the First Division (carefully explaining morale situations without actually using my own). With Ren, I bought four futons and had them sent off to my house, as well as an actual table and some cushions to sit on. After my own purchases, I went with Ren to be fitted for school kimono, as well as various supplies. For lunch, we stopped for soba, something I could tell that Ren never had, as she looked at the curling brown noodles and poked them like an unwanted insect before trying them.

It was there that Ren finally asked me what must have been on the tip of her tongue for ages. "Can you tell me what my real name was?"

"Do you want to know?" I asked back, looking for confidence in her voice. There are those in my own division that had asked the same question, then were horrified that the lives that they had long forgotten about were not ones to be proud of.

"Yeah. That's why I became a Shinigami- to find a place for myself. I'm hungry," she said, stabbing a noodle, and then soaking it in the peanut sauce, "so I will eat."

"One month. I have a lot to do, and finding anyone's paperwork is difficult- it took me half a year to find my own, and the sheets in the main files don't tell you which shinigami preformed the sorting. I usually tell people two, but I'll have Matsumoto look it up for you, too. What was the last name you were given?"

"Toriyama."

"That helps a lot. And how many years ago?"

"I died in 1916."

"Thirty five years before me. Yet, you look like your body has aged more than mine. Much more."

"No, man, you just aged _less_."

That evening I brought Ren and her meager belongings down to the Academy, and helped her move in. The boy's dorm looked the same as it did about thirty years ago, and as we finished the last of the unpacking, I pulled out something hidden from view.

"You might need this," I said, as I tossed her my old bouken that I had kept underneath my captain's jacket the entire day. Perceptive Ren was not, but hopefully the Academy would give her a chance to work on such a skill. She held the wooden sword in her hand, tracing the laced grip. The school handed out bouken to the students their first day of class, but this one Momo had given me, and it proved to be much better than anything the school had. I had no need for it save nostalgia, so now handed it to her.

Of course, the entire time we were there, other shinigami hopefuls and their families were, too. The entire dormitory was filled with people giving Ren and me awkward stares. It wasn't difficult to hear the comments we received, and as I left to (hopefully) allow Ren to meet some of her new classmates, I was stopped by a professor I had never seen before.

He adjusted his glasses and looked down at me. "I had heard from some upperclassmen that a captain had been in our halls on moving in day, but I had thought it was just a rumor. To what do we owe this pleasure, Captain Hitsugaya?"

"Well," I said, looking up, way up, at the tall and broad shouldered man, "I was assisting a student without a family move in his belongings. Toriyama Ren."

'Toriyama… were you the one who found this prodigy, sir? You have quite an eye. He scored perfect on every section of the exam."

_Prodigy…? Of course, only Ren…_ "Found him? As much as I would like to take credit for that, sir, the reason why I'm here is because I knew him long before I was a Captain, let alone a shinigami. He's my elder brother, more or less."

To this, his left eyebrow raised, but I could tell he now held a carrot over my head to come back and visit the University more often. "Well then, you must stay for the opening ceremony! We cannot let him be present without at least a member of his family or a close friend!"

He gave me a brad smile, bowed deeply, and strode off. I should have just said nothing. The Shinigami Academy's opening ceremonies were short, but someone there would certainly mention me, and then the floodgates would open. There was a reason that high-ranking officials rarely visited the Academy, and it wasn't because they were busy.

But he had a point- Momo had come with me to mine, and the least I could do was stay with Ren. I quietly returned to the dorms and asked her if she wanted me to stay. Her downward glance I took as a reluctant 'yes', so that ended my Day of Earth. I retired to my own quarters late yet again, but not before several teachers, some I knew, most I did not, quietly mentioned that I ought to come and watch the students on occasion. It would be good for morale.

The day of Sun was by far the most unusual of the four days since I had returned. I woke up, cleaned off and got dressed, and went about setting up for that evening. I had already contacted my division that I would be returning to my duties as of the Day of the Moon, so for the first time in what could very well have been ages I cleaned my estate and set up the table. I quickly remembered that I had not tended my garden since I had left, and putting down a tarp seemed like my only option. After making the room as presentable as I could, I walked out onto my verandah…

…and discovered the landscaping in better condition than when I had left. Hanging from a tree, I found a note.

_10-20-06_

_Hitsugaya-_

_For future reference, I know how to take care of plants just as well as I know how to take care of people. If you ever need to leave Seirentei again, do not hesitate to ask for some gardening assistance. I am glad you have returned in safety._

_Unohana_

_Furthermore, I have gone through my division's medical records. Somehow you seem to have slipped out of a checkup every single time one has come up. This is somewhat understandable, but unreasonable. Please stop by the fourth division headquarters on the twenty-second at two in the afternoon, and I assure you that it will not be witnessed by others. I also have something rather important to discuss with you. I promise this will take no more than an hour or so._

Glad I saw the note, I folded it up and took one last glance of my rather improved garden, then walked back up the verandah and was about to close the shoji behind me when I took a glimpse at my koi pond. There were a few small seahorses swimming with the fish.

I went to the market soon after, purchasing what I needed for the evening. Matsumoto had already promised me she would be joining us with a bottle of plum wine and dessert, so I purchased things for dinner and fresh tea leaves, dropped them off in my kitchen, and walked all the way around to the fourth division's main complex. Captain Unohana was already standing there, waiting patiently, and ushering me into her office.

"Sit," she commanded. Despite being of an extremely kind demeanor, sometimes I found this woman to be scarier than any of the most war hardened members of the eleventh division. Her looking at you could make the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up. She shuffled through some paperwork and pulled out a file. "Well, Hitsugaya, we are going to have to start at step one. I'm going to need you height and weight, blood pressure, pulse, reiatsu pressure, and a number of other things. Back to the wall, please."

This went on for a full half hour, until all the sheets had bee sorted through and completed. She motioned me to sit down again, and leaned forward on her desk. "Well, now that all of that is now in order, I need to ask you something rather… unusual." She coughed, stalling for time. "How are you finding your… gigai, Hitsugaya?"

I hadn't thought about that, as the experience I had with having my gigai made was not of the pleasant variety. After becoming a seated officer, I soon received a letter from the twelfth division for my fake body- a shell that could be used in the living realm to look like a living person- to be made. Fortunately, I had just been in a training session with my zanpakutou that had ended up violent, so I was bloody and bandaged up so much that most of the measurements were done on guesswork, and my gender remained only in my knowledge. A month later, when I had been called back to try it on, I was horrified. Of course they thought I was a male so I ended up with a gigai that had been extremely awkward. The feeling of being in one of these is like having a skin of liquid rubber pressed onto your entire body. My chest was squeezed, my hips were squeezed, and then there was the issue… down there. I would have to exit and return to it every time I needed the restroom, to say the least. My face, too, felt awkward. This they had actually measured just fine, but it felt plastic, like a mask, and t was hard to do such simple things like blink. My hair did not look right either, as my real hair was naturally white, but whatever had been used on it just looked off.

"To put it simply, Captain, that is the reason why I never choose to take a long term mission in the living realm," I replied honestly.

"And that's a pity. Might I suggest a second gigai for you, then?" she said, as she pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a brush pen. "On your next day off, go here," she stated, scribbling down something on her sheet. "It's in the living realm, ad it's off the books. But even despite your unusual situation, it's common knowledge that most officers who take frequent trips to the other side have a gigai made by this person instead of their issued one. You'll find it much better, I assure you."

Did Unohana Retsu, Captain of the Fourth Division, just suggest I go see a black market dealer for a gigai?

Before I could even think what I was saying I blurted out, "Would you like to come to my house for dinner this evening? I'm having some guests from that airplane that crashed a few weeks ago."

"The one from Beijing?"

"Yes."

She smiled "Wo xihuan chi Zhongguofan. Bang ni, hao buhao?" _I love Chinese food. I can give you a hand, if you want._

I didn't know how to respond, and all my brain could come up with was, "Nin shi Zhonggouren ma?" _Wait, you're Chinese?_

"Shi. Ni buzhidao ma?" _Yes, I am. You didn't know?_

She stood up, opened the shoji, and motioned for me to exit with her. I was at a complete loss for words.


	18. Moeyuku

**Unreasonable Continuity Error**

I don't know if I should go back and fix this, but it might be the best idea. In the first week, the day skips from Thursday to Saturday, without a missed date. Two weeks prior to now, I have two Tuesdays in a row without a mistake in the date, so it does even out. If I get the chance, I'll go back and fix these, fortunately it does not mess up continuity pertaining to Hitsugaya's day off or anything else important that could not be fixed in a word or two, which is why I did nothing about it. But now it's really beginning to irritate me.

**Lady Azar de Tameran Deserves a Hug and a Cookie**

Just to make it clear, I'm a bit of a review whore. After all, who doesn't love feedback? I don't care if it's positive, negative, or flames, honestly, because it's good to know that what I'm writing isn't falling on deaf ears. In fact, I love negative comments because that means I know you don't like my story, and why. This is why Lady Azar deserves her own paragraph. She's reviewed after almost every chapter I write, asking questions and giving great feedback. So, in addition to this story being dedicated to Paku Romi (who also deserves a hug and a cookie), this story is dedicated to Lady Azar, for being such an amazing reader. On that note, Azar, you're getting dangerously close to the truth about Unohana. Dangerously close, but not quite right. All I **_can_** say is this- Unohana is NOT Hitsugaya's mother. If I said any more, it would be a major plot spoiler.

**Enjoy**

Tenth Moon, Twenty-Third Sun, Sixth Year (Moon)

Waking up promptly at six was downright impossible after almost tree weeks of not doing so, especially after last night's events. I cracked my neck backwards and rolled up my own bedding, sliding the door open to the closet and folding it away. Matsumoto and Captain Unohana's beddings were their own, and already tucked into neat piles next to the doorway. I heard rustlings from the fire pit and kitchen, so the two of them were probably making breakfast. My three other guests were sprawled out of the floor, all seemingly content and in deep sleep. The mother was Han-Xiaoyin, the father Yao-Baidong, and their daughter Christiana. They had all already received their names for the afterlife, too, but we did not use those at all in the evening. Matsumoto, unfortunately, could not follow our conversation at all the previous night, but I at least had the heart to teach her how to count how many bottles of alcohol she had been drinking in Mandarin.

"Yi-ping, liang-ping, san-ping jiu!" I could hear Matsumoto singing softly from the kitchen. "One bottle, two bottles, three bottles of beer…" she mumbled, and I heard a crack. I ran to the kitchen to see that it was neither of the shinigami's heads that made that noise, but one of my cheap dishes (that I actually hated) crash to the floor.

"I'm so terribly sorry, Hitsugaya," Captain Unohana cried, then put her hands over her mouth and changed her voice to a whisper. "I'll get you a replacement."

"No need," I responded, "because I was planning to get rid of those anyway. And wonderful singing, Matsumoto. I'm sure Captain Kyouraku or Captain Ichimaru would love to hear that at your next party."

Matsumoto blushed. "That would only work if I knew how to count higher. It would be an insult to stop at three."

I found a broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the mess, and began to sing. "Wo you pijiu. Zoutien he le pijiu…" _(I had some beer. Yesterday I drank some)_

To my surprise, as I finished sweeping, Captain Unohana, as she cracked some eggs and stirred them with sugar to make an omelet sang the next line, "He ma? He ma? He le ji-ping pijiu?" _(You drank? You drank? So how many bottles was it?)_

I caught up on the one line Matsumoto knew and responded with a. "Yi-ping, liang-ping san-ping jiu" _(One bottle, two bottles, three bottles beer)_

Captain Unohana replied back, singing, "Si-ping, wu-ping, liu-ping jiu" _(Four bottles, five bottles, six bottles beer)_

"Qi-ping, ba-ping jiou-ping jiu" _(Seven bottles, eight bottles, nine bottles beer)_

Unohana and I looked at each other and finished the last line. "Wo he le shi-ping pijiu. Si, si, si." _(I drank ten bottles of beer. Dead, dead, dead!)_

And with that, the Captain burst into laughter, and a small smile crept on my own face.

Matsumoto looked at us with awe. "What the… Captain, what exactly was that?"

"One of my mother's old drinking songs. She sang it every time her friends would come over and have a drink with her."

"Didn't you say you died when you were six or so?"

"That doesn't mean I never learned the song. Sadly, it's actually how I learned to count," I paused, adding, "I'll write down the lyrics for you later, all right?"

Matsumoto gave me a warm smile. "I'd like that."

Captain Unohana's back was turned to me and I saw the "four" emblazoned on her haori jacket's back. In both Japanese and Chinese, the word "four" is pronounced the same as the word for "death", as "shi" and "si" respectively. That is why hospitals in the Living Realm in those countries never have a fourth floor or a fourth room, skipping from three to five. And one thing I certainly knew, being the head of the Tenth Division, was that my own mother was in her mid eighties now, but _not_ dead. My elder sister, Du-Huiying, must be in her sixties and alive. My mother's three closest friends, all also old now, but none of them had passed through. I know this for a fact because traditional Chinese names are almost never repeated, and if so, by accident. Unlike Japanese names, the Chinese naming system opens up every symbol for use in a name, even ones only recorded once in the language's history. Finding two people with the same exact name, first and last combined, is next to impossible.

So how in the world did Captain Unohana know my mother's song?

_Later-_ We said our goodbyes, and shortly after breakfast I escorted my guests to their proper gate and, although I often had business on New Year's, promised to see them fifteen days later during the Lantern Festival that would be taking place in early March.

"We'll find you a good husband, then," Han-Xiaoyin said, giving me a warm, genuine smile, but I could tell she was joking with me. The Lantern Festival is a traditional holiday of romance, and unfortunately, it fell disastrously between Valentine's Day and White Day this year. I thanked her, thinking that a romantic interest was not exactly what I was looking for that moment.

Captain Unohana had already been called away to her duties, and Matsumoto and I returned to ours. For once, she actually did not slack off on her paperwork, and even though the incompetent lower officers left behind some sheets, we finished our morning load earlier than expected, and sat down to a refreshing lunch. It would take a week or so before Matsumoto reinitiated her drinking binges with Captain Ichimaru and lost her work ethic, but I was not going to complain with what I had now. For a Captain, I was the luckiest of the lot- a vice captain whom I could call sister just as much sister-in-arms.

I poked a stray grain of rice with a chopstick, and felt the wad of paper I had shoved in my robes the day before lodge in an uncomfortable place. I was fortunate I hadn't washed my hardly-used robes from the day before, or I would have lost the paper entirely. Awkwardly, I fished it out of my garment, and unfolded it to take a look at the directions for the first time. I didn't realize that what they say about doctor's handwriting is often true, for what she had scribbled on the sheet seemed like a completely different person had penned it than the note I had received from her on my tree. I was not going to send Captain Unohana a Hell Butterfly message when she had her own business to take care of, so, remembering her words about officers who often went to the Living Realm (of which Matsumoto seemed to be called more often than the lottery usually permitted), I simply asked Matsumoto what she knew.

"A black market gigai dealer?" she asked back, between mouthfuls of cold udon. "There are a few good ones scattered over the living realm. There are some mortals who can see shinigami, you know. But the one Captain Unohana probably was trying to point you to is one on the outskirts of a small Japanese industrial town. I'll draw out a better map for you, here." She took a ballpoint pen out of her drawer, not a brush pen, and began drawing out a surprisingly well-labeled map.

"It seems like you've been there a few times before," I commented.

"Uh, well, I…" she stammered, before I cut her off.

"Nothing to be ashamed of if the work is legitimate and better than what they can do here."

She eased off, and with it, I realized the person that I was being sent to was reputable, maybe even more so that what some of our own twelfth division did.

"Well, the place is disguised as a small dry-goods store, and not just for show. The manager of it needs to pay for rent and electricity with living money, after all. Don't arrive after ten in the morning or before six in the evening unless it is an emergency, because the poor shopkeeper has to run two very different businesses under the same roof, and it would seem very strange to his mortal customers if he just started talking to thin air. Just wait inside for the living customers to finish and he'll give you a sign when it is clear. Expect to pay about 50,000 ryo for a gigai, too," she finished, as she handed me her map. "I know that's a lot, but it sure as anything beats the free crap they make here. It almost feels like you're actually alive again, and not like some sort of sadistic mask."

"I'm going tomorrow evening," I said. "That way, I won't have to worry about the Day of Water if it takes a lot of time."

"One more thing I think you should know,"

"What?"

"Don't anger the manager's black cat. It gets irritable and he might actually raise the price. Bring a can of tuna for it and he might actually slash a percentage off your purchase. Just so you know. That man has quite the attachment to that little furball. I'd hate to see him when that thing dies."


	19. Replicas

**Very Punny**

The last two chapter titles were a combined pun. Chapter seventeen was a play on Unohana's name. In Bleach, the Soul Society runs with Japanese terminology, while Hueco Mundo uses Spanish. By splitting Unohana into "Uno Hana", I have used the Spanish word for "one" and the Japanese word for "flower", and that chapter brings back the flower and planting symbols I have used throughout the story. Meanwhile, the last chapter title was "Moeyuku", which can either mean "to blossom" or "to violently explode". For those who have seen the Bleach anime, the ending song Hanabi has the line "Kono hana moeyuku" repeated in its chorus, which also sounds similar to "Unohana moeyuku". Without kanji to indicate the meaning, the "kono hana moeyuku" line can be translated in one of four ways: "The flowers are blooming", "the flowers are exploding", "the fireworks are blooming" or "the fireworks are exploding".

By the way, I've hit over 30,000 words. That equals to almost 70 pages on 8.5 by 11 sheets, or about 90 pages novel-size. You guys have read half a novella! On that note, I've _written_ half a novella. I've never had that kind of perseverance before. Wow.

**Enjoy**

Tenth Moon, Twenty-Fourth Sun, Sixth Year (Fire)

Despite the strangeness of waking up to an empty house, the morning seemed eerily normal. There was nothing noticeably different about the day, and I got up, dressed and ate as usual, packing a bentou as well as a small satchel of food and a change of clothes for the evening, as I planned to open a gate to the living realm immediately after work. I wanted to get my irritation of being refitted over with, and actually take a look around central Japan the next day. I'd been speaking the language for the past half century, but never once visited the land of its origins. The day went as most days of Fire did before I had left- officer training in the morning, paperwork midday, and a meeting with the top ten officers of my division in the later afternoon. After we broke, I packed up my things for the night and said goodbye to Matsumoto.

"Give me a call if you need anything, Captain," she called, as I opened up the gates and felt my power sapped out of me as I clipped on my reiatsu limiter. Ah well, it never hurt to feel weak once in a while, especially when a captain with their powers cut off was still stronger that the most well-equipped third seated officer. Then again, that's exactly what makes a captain a captain.

I turned around, my tenth division jacket flying around behind me as I gave one more look back, then all went black. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply twice, then opened them to find myself in the middle of a busy intersection. I dodged a car (although I could simply let it pass right through me if I wanted to, but the thought was rather sadistic- after all, I was already dead) and looked in amazement at the side of the road they were driving on. The left? Either this was something Japan did that America did not, or things really had changed in the last thirty-five years since I had set foot on this side of the gate.

Two girls were chatting outside of a coffeehouse and I walked right by them snorting in their direction. From what I had gathered from shinigami far older than me, people many centuries ago had a higher spiritual power, and many could see shinigami and interact with them as if they were the living. Whole tribes of such people once flourished, I had learned, but many died out over time or disbanded to the far corners of the planet. Not that Earth had corners, mind you.

But these two girls were the vast majority now, completely oblivious that an albino- Chinese-cross-dressing-Edo-period-costume-wearing dead girl was standing right in front of them. Although they could not hear, see or even touch me, I could them. As I passed by the two girls, the hilt of Hyorinmaru accidentally hit one of them in her left side and she jumped.

"Itai!" she cried, and a smirk crossed my face. Sure I was over sixty, including my years alive, but that didn't mean I couldn't pull a good prank. I climbed the large pot of an outdoor fern to reach the right height, leaned forward, and then blew a stream of cold air onto her neck. I fell forward from my awkward position, and only centimeters away from landing on her (which was fortunate), but I would have missed hitting her anyway. She had jumped a full meter into the air and was screaming for dear life. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

My deed done, I looked up at the clock tower next to the café. Although it had been a little past eight when I had left Soul Society, it was 5:40 here. I made a mental note of the awkward time change, and pulled out my map, jumping onto the nearest roof to get a better vantage point for looking at the city. In five minutes, I had reached the place.

A few girls in matching skirts and blouses were standing together in one of the small aisles. I stood casually of to the side, watching them and getting a view of the entire small store. The owner probably lived here in a back room, as well as having a storage room or something, because the outside of the establishment looked far bigger than the interior I was in. A man, young looking by his unhindered posture and well kept appearance, walked down and was talking with the remaining gaggle of girls. He wore a large hat, striped green and white, so it was impossible for me to see his face.

"I'm sorry," he said to them, and I noticed that his voice did sound young. He must be one of the assistants, because a much larger, older man sat with an old fashioned (even by my standards) cash register and was ringing up a few purchases. "Girls, can you please finish with your purchases? I apologise again; I have to close up shop soon. I'm expecting a guest tonight."

With this, he glanced up and I could see a pair of eyes peeking out from underneath the ridiculous hat. He was looking at me, I could tell. Maybe he wasn't just the assistant, after all.

The last of his human customers gone, the hat wearing man took off said hat and a cascade of blonde hair fell down. I raised an eyebrow in slight surprise, as 99 percent of all Japanese people are of Japanese descent.

"Are you Urahara Kisuke?" I asked, expecting something, well, not something like this.

"Most certainly am," he replied candidly. "So, Captain, you here to shut me down or are you here for business?"

I was surprised at his frankness, and almost lost my cool. "The latter," I finally replied. "I was told by my vice captain to come here, so I did. Reluctantly, I might add." I hated sounding overly pompous, but I also did not want to get ripped off by a shady salesman.

"Tenth division, huh?" he said looking at me. This Urahara character knew a lot about the afterlife. More than most common dead people knew about it, too, which surprised me. "When did you become Captain, if I might ask, and if it isn't so rude of me, what is your name? Calling you "Captain" or "you" doesn't really suit me."

"I became captain about fifteen years ago, in the summer of 1990. And my name is Hitsugaya Toushirou."

"Shirou? What came first, your name or your hair?"

This statement was so blunt and so direct that I could not help but like this man.

He realized I wasn't responding, however, and picked up on the unsteady beat in an instant. "Ah, never mind, just some good humor. Hitsugaya, why don't I get some tea and we can discuss whatever it is that you need done."

We sat down at a low table, and I sipped a glass of what was some excellent bitter tea. I noticed, when arriving, that every sense seemed stronger here: the hot was hotter, the cold colder, and the bitter even more so than usual. It felt good to feel, although sounds were a little too loud for my liking, and I jumped whenever I heard a door slam, which was quite often, and I quickly discovered why. Two children, both of who could see me clearly, stayed at this residence as well, and they were caught up in a wild game of house tag.

He snorted and scratched at his right eye. "I knew the previous Captain of your division, and I hate to say this, but there are very few men out there I can't tolerate. He was one of them. So if I treat you in any way that is disrespectful, I apologize in advance."

He _was_ frank. "No harm done, sir, but what I'm here for is a gigai."

"Really? You're the third of thirteen captains who's asked me for one. I hate to say it, but if that many of you are coming to see me, there's something wrong with the Twelfth Division, on offense to you, of course, **_madam_**."

Was it that freaking obvious? I didn't enter his shop with a sign plastered to me, did I?

I shook my head lightly, and he sighted. "This is going to be interesting. What, you want your gigai to actually be you, or do you want one that looks like a boy without being uncomfortable? Man, the people they're hiring as Captain are just getting weirder and weirder, I tell you." He looked at me and said this as a laugh, more as an invitation to speak than an insult. "Don't worry, you have your reasons, as I do mine for doing what I do, so I have no excuse if I gave anyone else judgment."

"Thank you, sir."

"Since you're from the tenth division, you must know your real name, right? Why don't we start this introduction over again and I'll have Ururu measure you." He paused, and then yelled, "_Ururu! Prepare the equipment for a gigai measurement, please!_"

I was so taken aback by him I couldn't help but reply. "My name is Hitsugaya Aki, pleased to meet you. Or, if you want, you can call me Hua Lei, although I haven't heard that in over fifty years."

"That's not a problem," he replied. "I haven't had my birth-name said to me in about two millennia."

_Later-_ It was strange to see this little girl, who looked to be about the same age that my own soul did, work a rather complicated piece of equipment. Unlike the unwanted poking and mold castings that the twelfth division had done, she had a metal square that emitted a bright white light out of the middle, that I simply passed through a few times. After I had put my clothing back on, she asked if she could cut off a small tuft of my hair, to which I complied, albeit a little reluctantly. She held out a camera and took a few close up shots of my skin tone, then told me she was done. The entire process took no more than fifteen minutes. I was expecting hours.

As I was prepared to leave and find a good roof in the city to sleep on somewhere, Urahara stopped me. "You're a paying customer; the least I can do is give you some food and a place to sleep until both of them are finished." I had indeed asked for one of each, but requested the one that looked male to be just that, _looked_. I didn't want to even think about the 'additions' down there, it made me more uncomfortable than I thought something of that nature would. Yuck.

"Won't that take weeks?"

"That's an insult to my craft! I'll have it done before breakfast tomorrow. What do you take me for, anyway? Now, come, I have some dinner."

_Around Eleven_- For some reason, I could not sleep. I was in an actual bed, nearly forgotten how comfortable they were compared to futons, but it was because I was worried sick that I couldn't just pass out. I wasn't worried about the cost, but about what it would look and feel like. Would I really feel like a mortal again, like Matsumoto claimed, and now that I had been bit by the traveling bug, would I be able to return home?

I crept out of bed and followed the sound of a low hum down the hallway, finding one shoji that was open partially, and omitting light. I peeked in like a small child, because, compared to this man, if what he had said was really true, I _was_ still just a child.

He had something that looked way too eerily like me propped up in a chair, wearing a green hospital gown- possibly out of respect. The body was done, but it looked to smooth and perfect, and white, but I could see that was beginning to change. He had a small set of tools and elasticity white putty that he was working into my new gigai's face. He added the faint cut on my left ear, the small raised pockmark I had to the left of my right eye, sharpened the nose, and took a step back. It was almost as if this man was creating a sculpture, and the subject was me.

After moving the putty aside and taking out another case of something I could not recognize, he spoke in a half-whisper without even turning around. "You know, if you want to watch, just say so."

I gulped, and entered. He propped open the next case, this one held paint. "I'm… bald." I mused softly."

"Hair always goes in last, and that's usually the reason why it takes so long. I made a machine a few decades back that does that part for me, though. That's why my turnaround is so fast. This part is pretty quick. And I'm glad you're in here anyway. I wanted to take a better look at your coloring."

Out of context, that statement seemed like the strangest thing anyone has ever said to me. I sat under a lamp with identical wattage to the one he had on over the gigai and paint for all of ten minutes when he clicked it off and I took a look at the gigai's face. It looked exactly, perfectly, like me. Just without hair.

He took another look at my face. "Your left eye is lazy," he aid, and wrote it down, more for his benefit than my own. "I hate to ask, but do you mind if I look at them more closely for a second?"

He took a small pocket light and began to inspect my eyes from an angle, then asked me if I could track the light as he moved it. After a few more seconds of consideration, he flicked it off. "How often do you go to the fourth division for an eye exam, or do you avoid that part of Seirentei like the plague?"

"I can't recall ever going for something like that."

"Do you wear glasses at all?"

"For reading."

"Huh. Just for future reference," he said, turning back to the gigai and painting the left arm. "You're not just a regular albino. You have something called ocular albinism, and it's rather rare. You might want to consider getting yourself some prescription glasses, but from the looks of it, you seem to be compensating just fine. One of the other captains is completely blind, correct?"

"Who, Captain Tousen? Yes, he is."

"Hm…" He paused. "Well, now that your curiosity has been appeased, why don't you go get some sleep?"

It did sound like a good idea, so I stood up, and was about to walk out, when a large black cat jumped in the room.

"Yoruichi!" Urahara cried, almost as if the cat could actually understand him. "Be nice to the guest."

I simply put out my hand and let the large black ball of fluff sniff it. Satisfied, it let me scratch it behind the ear, and I sat back down. It immediately jumped into the folds of my hakama, so I pet it. Yoruichi leaned back lazily, looked up at me, and purred.

Urahara chuckled to himself. "Yoruichi hardly ever takes to any of my customers besides that Matsumoto girl."


	20. A Small Reminder

**I Am In China!!!!**

It's been over a month, and this chapter was a long time coming- I am truly sorry. But I'm in Beijing, and leaving for Xian on Thursday, so don't expect more than one other update until the middle of February because classes are insane. I have two tests tomorrow and midterms are on Wednesday.

This chapter also marks the first time I've **_ever_** written a fight scene (pathetic, I know, but I prefer retrospective). This one is more or less off-screen though. Maybe I'll put in something more dramatic later.

**Culture Side Note**

The new school year for the Japanese starts in the spring. Since it is the fall before Ichigo gets his shinigami powers, he would actually be a ninth grader, or a third year in junior high. Elementary school is grades 1-6, junior high is 7-9, and high is 10-12. The translated anime says that Ichigo is a freshman, but that is only true by Japanese standards. In the anime, he starts off as a tenth grader, or a USA sophomore.

**Enjoy**

Tenth Moon, Twenty-Fifth Sun, Sixth Year (Water)

The little girl from the day before leaned over my bed, peeking down on me curled up beneath the sheets, poking me like I was an animal on the side of the road that she wasn't sure if it was dead or alive. Well, I wasn't alive, of course, and the problem of me forgetting to close the curtain the night before had actually woken me up a good quarter hour prior with the passing of the sun.

"I'm awake, Ururu," I mumbled, waving a hand in her face half-groggily.

"Breakfast's out, Customer-san," she squeaked back. "You might want to eat before Manager opens the shop for the living people and is busy. And," she added as a small afterthought, "Kitty is missing."

"Don't worry, Ururu," I said as I stretched and sat up. "Cats like the outdoors. Yoruichi may just be wandering around a little."

However, when I pulled the covers off, I noticed a large ball of black fuzz curled up at the side of the mattress, having retired under the sheets with me the previous night. For the time of year, I had forgotten how cold it was on the living side of the gates, and my breath made puffs of smoke as I breathed.

I stepped down barefoot and got dressed after Ururu had left the room, then followed my nose to find the place where the rest of this motley group was already eating. Small pots of boiled rice, miso, and egg custard were sitting haphazard on the table as well as a pitcher containing a colored liquid I hadn't seen in decades.

"…Orange juice?" I asked rhetorically, as I sat down at an empty cushion. Rhetorically, because I had actually mumbled the word in Chinese. Unfortunately, it was not a word I even knew how to pronounce in Japanese. It simply didn't exist in Soul Society, so I had never needed to ask how to say it. Urahara looked taken aback.

"Hmm, I'm sorry, is there something you wanted to eat in particular?"

"No, I'm not picky. It's just that I've had this before," I said, pointing to the offending pitcher, "and I know how to say it in Chinese and English, but not Japanese."

"It's the same as it is in English," he said, yawning, passing me a glass and the juice. "Y'know, even without your hair you'd never pass as a Japanese kid. You use too much Japanese."

"Excuse me?" I asked, as I served myself from the boiled rice. It was good, but not as good as Matsumoto's.

"If you're going to go explore the downtown today, you'll see," he replied, quite ambiguously, taking a ladle to the egg custard and dishing out a small portion, placing it on the floor for his cat.

I cocked my head and finished eating in silence. Afterwards, I pulled up my sleeves and assisted Urahara in cleaning the dishes; the little red-haired boy who ate breakfast with us somehow remembered that he had 'something' to do and ran. He checked his watch and looked slightly disgruntled. "I have to open in ten minutes," he said, somewhat apologetically, "so go try on both of them and tell me if you have a problem. Ururu should have your gigai's clothes for you."

I found the small workroom I had been in last night; the two gigai were wrapped in something similar to oilcloth. One item that I recalled was that these things rotted easily when not in use, and needed to be stored properly. I lifted the one closer to me, it was heavier than I expected, and carefully began to unwind the wrapper. I was looking at myself, like a mirror but real, and it was utterly frightening. I dropped it with a slight thud, and the little pigtailed Ururu came to the door.

"Be careful with that," she said, holding more wisdom than her years would usually suit her. "It's you, you know." She handed me a small bundle of fabric and walked out. Clothes, some of which I had only seen in the fashion magazines my vice captain sometimes left haphazardly on her desk, and the rest I hadn't worn in decades, were in my hands. A blue jacket with a hood and a T-shirt, with English on it- that surprised me. Jeans. For the 'boy' gigai, I presumed. A blue long sleeve striped shirt and scarf with green corduroy. For the second gigai. I probably would never have picked these clothes out for myself, but then again, fashion in the living world changed even faster than Matsumoto could keep up with it- and that is saying something.

I peeled off the rest of the wrapper and saw this gigai was the male one. Since I had no practice fluidly entering and leaving a gigai like most of the other superior officers, I forewent my pride and called her back in. With Ururu's aid, I leaned forward and pushed myself into the life size puppet. My chest did hurt a bit, but no more than what it normally felt like when I bound it, considering the lack of size in my own 'area', anyway. I flexed my fingers, blinked my eyes, and, despite the fact that my soul was still wearing my shinigami uniform- tabi socks included- I could move my toes individually. How, I didn't know, my old gigai did not have this kind of freedom, but I was certainly not going to question it. Once I was satisfied that I had removed the kinks out if it, I got dressed and Ururu showed me a mirror. I was eerily pleased.

When she found me satisfied with the first one, she put on a strange glove and punched me in the stomach. I went flying backwards, but the thing stayed in her arms; she put it down, and the process was repeated.

When I was satisfied with the second gigai, I put on a pair of sandals, and walked to the front of the store, where humans were shopping. I got quite a few stares.

"Payment?" Urahara asked.

To this, I discreetly slipped him my cell phone and wrote down my identification. Cost wasn't important. He handed me back a small slip with the words, "This is a large sum, so it may take a few hours to process. Come back for dinner around six and I'll have everything in order for you." He also passed me a small envelope, containing ¥10,000. I didn't know how much this was actually worth, but I took it with gratitude. I saw the price of chocolate was ¥150 as I walked out, so I managed it in terms of that. It also held a small container of Ginkongan. I twitched, but Urahara had a point in giving it to me. Now that I was in my gigai, it would be rather difficult to get out on my own. I would much have preferred poison pills to temporary soul pills, but I had heard from Matsumoto that using too many of the former could deteriorate one's gigai much faster than usual. Hopefully the soul contained in the bright plastic case was at least partially competent. I'd heard plenty of horror stories otherwise.

Regardless, I had the equivalent of seventy-five units of chocolate to spend, and whether it came out of the money for the gigai or not didn't matter. I left, nodded my thanks, and looked at the clock on the street corner. 9:45 AM. I had eight hours to myself- no people I knew, no work to consider, no schedule to keep other than the end time.

I could have walked out and ran for it. And I was actually quite close to doing so if it wasn't for the following incident:

I walked the streets of Karakura for all of a half-hour when I spied a large group of junior high school students standing on a street corner, huddled together with a few men and women, presumably their teachers. Cars were pulling up, and the students were being systematically dismissed. Strange. A man with unruly black hair and a laboratory jacket passed by me in a hurry, knocking me down in the process, He made a huge show of apologizing, and helped me up. As he did, he immediately became serious and whispered in my ear.

"Your reiatsu is hard to hide, friend. If you are a shinigami, please, please go to the middle school one block down and take care of a Hollow presiding there. It's destroying the school and nearly ate a few of the students. My son is a senior there and may have caused it to come."

He then turned and ran goofily towards a group of the children, yanking at one lanky carrot-topped boy and pulling him into the most ostentatious hug I'd ever seen. "Oh, my son!" he moaned dramatically. "You're safe and sound! Come into Daddy's bosom and I'll take you home!"

The boy would probably have kicked his father if his teachers had not been standing there. Instead, he sighed, and let the semi-deranged man whisk him off. I stood there for a moment in shock, but the man was right; although I felt almost nothing more than the normal pressure of a living human from him, his son was emanating metric toms of spiritual energy.

I had no time to think about how the man even knew about me or my ability, but my hand shot to my pocket and I ran in the direction of the school, shaking loose a pill from the container. I popped it into my mouth, a first feeling quite ill, then shot backwards and out of the gigai at higher speed than expected. I ran forward and grabbed my now-toppled-over 'body', helping it up as the proxy soul started to activate. It blinked a few times and spoke with my voice.

"Is there something I can do, Master?" it piped.

"Get any humans out of the way, and any wandering souls into one area so I can perform konso on them when I am done dealing with **_that_**." I replied, looking up at the vile mass of energy that loomed over the large brick building. Looking back, I really wished I hadn't had the locks on my powers or left my phone with Urahara, because all of this could have easily been avoided- I would have sensed this monstrosity from some distance away. Fortunately, I was wearing my officer robes and binding tape, so any shinigami that would happen to pass would not think strange of seeing me.

I unsheathed Hyorinmaru, and jumped up to begin the strike. It had been so long since I'd actually fought a Hollow, I'd practically forgotten the feeling. It was exhilarating. This one was not just any ordinary Hollow, either; it was a Huge Hollow (the only thought, ironically, running through my head at the moment was who in the world gave name classifications to these things).

I spiked my reiatsu as a taunt and the black-and-white menace glared at me in recognition, looming far over my own head.

A tail I didn't know it had swung at me and I dodged easily.

Gastric juice was spewn in my direction.

I leaped and dodged, judging distance and systematically pushed it into a corner without its knowledge.

It roared.

I lunged.

This was what being a Shinigami was supposed to be.

Hit.

Block.

Swipe.

Saving people, protecting the living.

Clang! The metal hit hard on bony spikes protruding from the tail.

I skidded, ice shards forming under my feet from reiatsu friction as I came to a halt.

Watching over the living.

It did the stupidest thing it could do, charging at me, teeth bared.

Without even releasing shikai, a single swipe at the unprotected mask, and it was gone.

A crying spirit in the school's semi-destroyed courtyard.

This was why I was here.

Hyorinmaru was not really my desire to escape poverty. Nor to be famous. Or powerful. It was there to save others as Momo had once saved me. With a flash of blue light I saw both spirits, the 'plus' and the 'minus' pass into the world of light. For even in Rukongai poverty there was hope. All I wanted to do was pull people out of the darkness.

Like Momo had done for me.

I couldn't just be a child a turn my back on that. I had been given the gift of intellect. I used it to become powerful and for what means?

No matter how I had gotten where I was, I could use it to get where I was going. And the first place I was going was back to Urahara's.


	21. A Meeting of Three: Cut Short

A Note on China

Four words: Beautiful country, shitty Internet. But I'm back at my home university now, simply awaiting my venture to Kobe. I leave in May. I kept a journal online while I was in China, and will be uploading more photos onto it. It's the direct link on my Profile page, if you want a mini-glimpse of my activities. (It's a Livejournal and my user name is kinodiaries, if you're interested)

A Note on Otakon

I have never been at Otakon before, as I have only gone to little cons in my area. I will be going with some friends, with, **_of course_**, a Bleach theme. Yes, it's overdone. (Addition: I am also going to I-Con at Stoney Brook, too. Just got my ticket!)

However, I Googled who I plan on going as, and very few others have attempted it (which makes me a little more than nervous as I am still a novice cosplayer compared to most). My best guy friend and I are going as "arrancar" Aizen and Ulqiorra respectively. If you are planning to go, I would be happy to meet you, however, any Ichigos, Orihimes or Chads will be promptly handed to Yami then thrown into the trash. (If that didn't make sense, read the manga a little more, or watch the subbed anime) We also have a Zaraki, so please be forewarned (he's actually the biggest sweetheart despite his Jidanbo-esque size). (For I-Con, I will still be Ulqiorra, but I'm going with different people. I'm working on my friend's Urahara costume as we speak)

_**A Note on Divisions**_

_**I do not know what division Kurosaki Isshin belonged to while he was Captain. I know it wasn't the First, Eighth, Eleventh, Twelfth, or Thirteenth, for various reasons (read the manga!), so I picked one for him based on the remaining positions. If they do reveal it and I'm wrong, sorry. It's an educated guess, no more. Call it creative license.**_

Enjoy!

Tenth Moon, Twenty-Sixth Sun, Sixth Year (Wood)

The following occurrence happened too late in the night for me to even consider it as the Day of Water. Unfortunately, it's long and complex, and now that I am back in my duties, my ability to sit down and write pages is more difficult. I'll see how much I can fit in now, and when I got more free time I will try to fill in more details. Let me see how much I can pen now:

I was compelled to stay another night at Urahara's. For some reason, that man who had- thinking retrospectively- so purposefully bumped into me seemed to bother me. For one, the man and the boy looked completely different from one another. Was the child really his son or was there a ruse that fooled me?

Urahara, too, seemed to know far more than he was willing to admit. When I returned to his shop and home that evening, the wheels in my brain had begun to click. The man and his fourteen or fifteen year old son were there._ 'Under the pretext of buying some sweets for a party'_, I overheard, as out of the corner of the doorway I saw the young man throw his father a bag of crab chips and continue the argument they must have had since the time I saw the man drag his son a few hours ago.

I clutched my packages tighter. Walking over, I had stopped to do some shopping for Matsumoto, Ren, and Momo- who should be back within Seirentei by this point. As I saw Urahara's large assistant hand back change and a large bag, he also mumbled something I was half-expecting at this point.

"I hate to do this to you, Kurosaki, but that order of yours that was supposed to be here now can't arrive until around midnight, maybe later."

"Then I'll just have to come back for it then, won't I?"

"But your kids…" So the carrot top was his son. And he had more of them at home, I noted, with the assistant's clear use of a plural.

The lab-coated man turned to his son, "You can watch your sisters tonight, correct? I wouldn't bother you to do this unless it was something as important as it is. Urahara and I…"

Awkward pause. I could tell he was about to lie for whatever excuse he was about to give the teen. "Well, let's just say Urahara and I go way back. A good friend of his helped me start up the clinic we now run, and has some new equipment for me."

Actually, despite the pause, the man said the phrase with such a serious conviction that I actually didn't think he was lying. One thing I've perfected over the last half-century is a good judge of character. Yes, it's not always correct, but it's better than what I can say of the average person. And, while this man certainly was not lying, he just wasn't saying the whole truth- like **_how long_** he and Urahara "went back". I saw them turn to leave, so I scrambled up the roof as fast as I could, only to see Yoruichi curled up sunning on the tiles before the sky grew dark. The man, as he turned to leave, looked left and right, then up. He sensed me, I thought, but after feeling satisfied that it must have been his imagination, tugged playfully on his son's arm and walked off.

I jumped off the roof and slid down to enter the main compound, kicking of my sandals as I entered, as well as throwing back to Urahara's assistant the container of Ginkongan. Not that it wasn't useful- it was- however, if I was going to leave my gigai here in cold storage, I had no use for false soul pills when all I was **_was_** a soul. Ururu came out from doing whatever it was that she was preoccupied with at the moment and yanked me out. In an instant, my gigai's hand, now loosened by a lack of animation, let go of my gifts, and, with one clean sweep, I snatched them up before they hit the ground, like a well-scripted stunt out of I Love Lucy. As I rubbed a sore spot on my neck, she quietly hauled off the limp body. I could hear cloth being ripped and swishing sounds; she must have been rewrapping it. The girl impressed me greatly, and I wished I could talk with her. But despite her vast stores of knowledge, she thought and acted no more than a child, whereas I looked the part but could not pose as one well. We were identical, her and I, and more so than Ren and me, however, Ren I could talk to whilst her I could not.

I huffed and sat down, fixing the disgruntled mess that was my uniform. I heard a disheartening _rip_ and realized that the green lining of my haori jacket had ripped clean down a seam. I took it off and folded it into a neat pile beside me, then, realizing that the man was going to return, thought better of it and shoved it into one of my packages. Unless he went searching through my things when he returned, he would never know my rank. If I asked Urahara to say nothing, I would simply be another face, a random unseated officer of no consequence.

Said man entered his store moments later, sneezing loudly. He gave me a perplexed look, and simply sat down next to me, removing his hat and putting his face at a comfortable distance to my own. He was close enough for me to actually be able to detail his face- something I could say of so few- but not close enough to impose or intimidate, although the man intimidated me for reasons still unknown. An untapped fountain of knowledge, he was. He was someone I could at least attempt to communicate with, but for him it must feel like what I feel for Ururu.

Silence. He didn't know why I was still here, as I could probably have retrieved my belongings and my phone from his larger assistant and gone home by this point. Thus, I began.

"There's a man coming to your shop this evening. One that can see Hollows. His son has the aura of a shinigami, yet is alive. The man has none, yet, knew what, if not who, I was." I faltered, because I did not know how to ask for what I wanted. It was intruding on private matters, yet the lab-coated man had done the same for me that morning to a lesser degree. If Urahara could be blunt, then so could I. "I want to know **_what the fuck is going on_**. I feel like I'm just being toyed with."

Urahara looked oven at me with genuine concern. "How much do you wag your tail for the big dogs?" His face and voice were stern, more so than what I had previously seen.

"Not… not all that much. I receive my assignments, I do my work, and I receive my salary."

Urahara exhaled deeply and scratched the back of his neck. "Tonight, at midnight, come down to the kitchen. Quietly. I do not want you waking up Ururu or Jinta." With a strange change of pace, he turned around and threw me a mock salute of sorts, pushing aside a curtain and returning to a stock room. I had no idea what to make of this situation, so I simply took my leave and bumped into the larger man, who steered me off to dinner.

I spent the rest of the evening napping.

And waiting.

I watched the moon climb higher with baited breath, then plodded slowly down. It was only eleven, I knew, but I was too awake to nap for another half-hour and too bored to sit still. I rummaged through the kitchen slowly, and found something unusual; a jar filled with moderately sized black circles. Upon closer inspection, they were a pair of such circles with something soft and white inside. I sniffed. Sugar and chocolate. Some sort of sweet, I assumed, like the ones that Captain Ukitake always showered me with. The two of us were at least a millennium apart in age, yet he seemed more childish than me. Or, rather, fatherly. I'd gotten used to his occasional drop-in for no reason other than to skip out of work, and he always left Matsumoto a bottle of sake or wine, and me a veritable horde of sugar. Publicly, I threw those sweets out, but Matsumoto knew that the garbage can I dumped them in was used for nothing other than candy storage, and I'm almost positive Captain Ukitake did too, because over the past fifteen years of me as Captain, he got better and better at giving me the kinds of sweets I preferred- dark chocolate, sugar-laced rice cakes, dried pineapple, and gummies. He quickly stopped giving me any licorice, white chocolate, mint, or candied ginger- those things I really _did_ trash on sight… or, in the case of the latter, hid in Matsumoto's cupboard until she realized I'd left it (she, however, still had the last laugh, as the stench hung in the entire office for weeks).

I took a final look at the circle-sandwich, and, was about to bite, when I was interrupted by a gruff voice.

"Seems like someone has a sweet tooth." Urahara. It figured that I would get caught with my pants down. There was no pint in denying that I was stealing his food.

"Quite." I kept my answer simple.

"Can't stand anything with sugar myself; it's Ururu who runs through those things. Take some; we sell candy in the store. And you returned about half the yen I gave you anyway, so don't go worrying about it."

I took the whole jar and plunked it down on the table and sat, Urahara did the same. I bit a corner of the snack then gobbled the rest of it down, and sat munching. It was too quiet.

"I have quite a few friends in Soul Society," he started. I stopped, my hand halfway to the jar for another treat. Urahara was about to tell me something important; there would be no way for me to go and ruin it. "A few of those Captains have been around for quite some time. One of them was a man I knew well; he told me that in life he had always been ill, but always wanted children. A son. His wife could not produce, and upon reflection, he thought he was sterile. His body was so used to being incapacitated that even his spirit was sick. Tuberculosis, I believe. About fifteen years ago, he found an upstart young boy-captain who had both the arrogance and compassion to remind him of himself."

"Hm," I said, finally speaking. "I think I know this child. Is he short, with green eyes?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you… if that boy made a good son?"

"He said- and I'm quoting him, mind you- that the boy **_was the best asshole a father could ask for_**. Considering how much you know about this little sweet-toothed snot-nosed brat, I'm letting you stay to hear this. Now come, my guest is here."

I followed.

The man from before, still in his lab coat, scratched at his right eye ad cracked his neck as Urahara let him in. "Too late for this," he groaned.

"Well, deliveries from Soul Society don't come until around ten PM their time, so we still have close to a half hour before it arrives. Meanwhile, Kurosaki Isshin, I'd like to introduce you to another customer of mine. Hitsugaya?" Both men turned to me.

"Hitsugaya Aki," I said, bowing. It was strange that now gender was simply a matter of convenience. "I work in the Tenth Division." Kurosaki looked slightly taken aback.

"Tenth? Usually they send the Thirteenth to handle routine Hollow exterminations."

"You saw me. I was off-duty and just happened to be in the area. Can't remember the last time I had to slay a Hollow either. And, anyway, considering the amour of information you know, are you a Shinigami yourself?" The room grew silent. I hit a nerve between the two of them, and I did it deliberately. That statement wasn't aimed just at the man picking up his delivery, either. While I was walking around that afternoon, I had racked my brain for the name Urahara. Something had been shaken loose in my head, and I couldn't quite place it, not until I heard the name Kurosaki just a moment ago. Kurosaki. I'm surprised I did not recognize the man sooner. But nineteen years can change a lot, and seeing the man outside of the robes I was so accustomed to, and _with a child_, threw me off.

That man was Kurosaki Isshin, the former Captain of the Tenth Division. The man I previously worked under. The man that Urahara said… wait, let me flip back a few pages here, **_"I knew the previous Captain of your division, and I hate to say this, but there are very few men out there I can't tolerate. He was one of them. So if I treat you in any way that is disrespectful, I apologize in advance."_**

Sneaky bastard. Urahara was someone I still could not place, but considering that he had such extensive mechanical knowledge, he may well have been a high-ranking Twelfth Division officer, even retired captain. But one thing I knew for sure- Captain Kurosaki was going to get a piece of my mind.

I raised an eyebrow. "So you don't even recognize a former subordinate?"

"Hitsugaya… Hitsugaya Toushirou?" His eyes grew wide as saucers and I could see I had seriously taken him off-guard. "What were you doing in a girl gigai… what are you doing as a girl now?" The poor man was clearly confused.

"Sit," I said, and fearing I sounded too commanding, I hastily added, "please."

The two men sat, and I rummaged through my things I had at the door, finding the ripped haori. I rolled it up in a ball and tossed it behind me; Kurosaki caught it.

"Is this… yours?"

"Yes," I said quite flatly. "I'm your replacement, once you disappeared nineteen years ago, they had one heck of a time finding a new Captain. I was still only the tenth seat, and I was in little mood to make a fuss."

"I'd been seeing this most wonderful woman Masaki in the human realm two years, when suddenly your reiatsu spiked. You achieved Bankai."

"Yes."

"When that occurred, I decided that I would leave. I knew you were capable, but would never have gotten yourself promoted without being pushed. You should have been a Vice-Captain upon graduation. You didn't want to put yourself in the spotlight."

"True."

"Hitsugaya, this is your former captain speaking. Don't go giving me one-word answers, do you hear me?"

"Yes, _sir_!"

"I was in love, and I left. If you weren't going to step up to the job, I left a note for Captain Aizen and Vice-Captain Hinamori to go find you at Yuyuan on a Wednesday."

"I trained in that park on my day off. So that's how I was spotted. You!"

"Me." I froze in disbelief. I wasn't angry, just… surprised. I hardly saw Captain Kurosaki past the piles of work at my own desk, both literally and figuratively.

A clang on the door's bell. I jumped out of sight and Urahara slid the door open to reveal a shaking shinigami holding a package as far away from her body as she could. Urahara took it from her and she scampered off like a scared rodent.

_I've run out of time. I'll have to finish this later…_


	22. A Meeting of Thirteen: Cut Shorter

**The Setup**

This marks almost the first half of the story. Now, Hitsugaya's character is mostly set, and we're onto the meat of the problem. This chapter and last detail some very important events, and a lot of the little quirks from previous chapters are really going to come into play. The "November 2" post will be a big shocker and a turning point in the plot, so get ready! After "Nov. 2", the plot will move into _Aud Lang Syne_, the third of the five installments, and _His Gigai_ will be over.

**Enjoy!**

Usually I don't have to run off to an officer's meeting on a regular basis, but this was exactly the reason why I had to cut my previous entry short. A summons. What could be so dire as to call us all out? If there was a problem between the divisions, only the parties involved (and possibly a moderator, which usually came in the form of a member of the First Division, or occasionally myself if they were busy and I wasn't involved in the situation) talked. Aside from the biyearly review- the first day of the Third Moon and Tenth Moon- and the yearly bankai testing of the captains on the Second of the Eleventh Moon (which was more an excuse for a party than a formal matter), I'd been to only four or five such meetings that were scheduled out of term in my fifteen- actually sixteen, really, years of office. I keep on writing fifteen. Strange how quickly the time flies.

Regardless, the meeting was partially (completely) my fault. Commander-General Captain Yamamoto brought up the details of my 'findings' to the entire court, much to my embarrassment. Captain Kuchiki, of all people, went so far as to congratulate me on such a thorough report. I secretly thanked whatever Ren had put in my tea that night to keep me awake, for it had saved my sorry behind.

As we were about to disperse, Captain Ichimaru, the head of the third division that I hardly knew, drew a low whistle. I stopped in my tracks, as did the others.

"What is it, Ichimaru? Is there something you need to address before we leave?" Captain Aizen asked, clearly perturbed by his colleague's mannerism.

"Yea'. Jus' wonder'n about next week. When we perform. I was jus' think'n, Cap'n 'Gaya's never seen any of the other bankai, an' I woul'n't mind taki'n his place as crowd control."

Captain Ichimaru was right. The newest Captain (me) had the obligation of organizing the yearly event, until a new Captain came to power. Other than coming forth to display my own abilities, I had to keep the thousands of shinigami there in order. Not fun, mind you, especially when all kinds of booths were set up, shinigami brought their families, and alcohol was literally everywhere. It was the largest festival day after New Year's and O-bon, and incredibly labor intensive. Due to this, coupled with the fact that I rarely trained with others, I hadn't seen any bankai aside from my own, and shikai of only my own division members and Momo.

"This'll be his sixteen'h year. I don' min' givin' 'im a break. Whadd'ya guys say?"

"Hitsugaya?" That was Captain Unohana.

"I'll still help with the setup," I said after a long pause. I couldn't reject another Captain's offer, but at the same time, it was still technically my duty to set up and monitor the event. "But, yes, the day of the festival, I would enjoy seeing everyone else's skills, so long as nobody minds."

A quick (and ultimately unanimous) vote was taken, and we dispersed, this time for real. I hung back to thank Captain Ichimaru, who put up his hands and declined my gesture.

"No need. T'be hon'st, it gives me a chance t' have a drink w' Ran-chan," he replied, and I couldn't help but smirk. Ran-chan was his pet name for my vice-captain, and it was actually kind of cute.

"Don't do anything **_too_** illegal while you are out of my sight," I sarcastically admonished.

"Yessir, Cap'n 'Gaya, will do," he cheerfully remarked, smiling and waving as we split directions and went back to our own compounds. "See ya' in two days t' start th' setup."

Now that that is out of the way, I had completely lost my train of thought at Urahara's. Needless to say, I had to go through the process of explaining **_yet again_** my situation. In the past two months this is the list of people who have actually heard of my secret, a list that is slowly expanding.

Div. 4: Captain Unohana

Div. 5: Vice-Captain Hinamori (Momo)

Div. 10: Former Captain Kurosaki, Vice-Captain Matsumoto

Other: Urahara and co., Akira, Norainu, the Seattle family, Matsumoto's family, and Ren

If this list grows any more, I will be in serious trouble. Too many people know. Fortunately, there are only four within the walls of Seireitei who do, and that number will hopefully stay that way. Yet, Matsumoto's family knows, which does put me in an awkward position.

Of all, Captain Kurosaki gave me the best reaction I'd seen.

After finishing up and gathering my things, I'd left around two, which ended up being eleven the previous night. The time changes startled me- it was over two hours earlier when I'd arrived, then two hours difference in the other direction when the package arrived (which Urahara expected, no less) and three hours difference when I returned, this time in reverse. The flow was uneven. But it was to be expected- Soul Society is nothing but particles of energy. Time 'moves' due do vibrations in matter, which doesn't exist here. It at least gave me the opportunity to get some sleep before trudging to work this morning.

Prior to Kurosaki's departure, Matsumoto had still been vice-captain, so I was happy to let her in on a bit of information as to where he was. He had made it look like he had died (and done so rather well, but it may have been possible that Unohana had been in on the whole affair from its conception), which prevented Soul Society from going after him. Whenever a soul 'dies' they become living babies, or disappear from the pool altogether, neither of which Soul Society needs. We mourned and moved on. So telling Matsumoto that Kurosaki was neither a going-on-twenty human without any memories of previous life nor a nonexistent entity was good news to her. I described his son and mentioned that he had two more children. Come to think of it, if Kurosaki had any orange haired daughters like his son, they might end up looking a bit like Matsumoto herself. Minus the cleavage. We both got a good laugh from that.

Upon returning from the meeting, I gave Matsumoto a gift from Japan, and went to the Fifth Division to properly greet Momo and take her out to dinner.

To an onlooker, I was asking her on a date. Both of us played the part. I put my arm on her shoulder, blushed at the right moments, and swiped the check before it even hit the table (in my defense, I normally do the latter, anyway. My pay is more than double hers, and that's standard captain wages). It was hard now. She knew I wasn't fawning over her, and while I hadn't been before, I most certainly must have been giving off mixed signals. I guess, now, she didn't have a cute boy adoring her, and she certainly had a crush on her own captain, Aizen, that was obvious. But the two of us just could not hold the same relationship we had before. Matsumoto, my colleague, became my sister. Momo, my sister, became… I'm not sure. Spending time with her this evening made me realize the sheer closet-ness of my actions since arriving to the Seireitei. There were so many people who reached out to me, and so few that I reached back to. Captain Ukitake, Captain Unohana, Ren, and now even Captain Ichimaru were trying to welcome me into the very community I had been a member of for years. I knew for a fact that most of them went drinking certain nights of the week and where, and while I did not condone the use of alcohol, I am sure that the bar would let me in to at least sit and talk.

After seeing Momo off to her quarters, I stopped by Matsumoto's favorite liquor store and bought four bottles of wine and gift tags. The first, I tagged but did not sign, leaving it at the Third Division headquarters, the second I tagged and signed, leaving it at the Fourth. I did the same for the third bottle, which I promptly brought to Matsumoto's residence. I had never been there before. It was smaller than my place, but still quite large. My estate had four rooms, a private bath, and kitchen, while hers had three slightly larger rooms in the standard L-shaped setup, plus a verandah that wrapped around the outside. Where I had a garden, she had a lawn, set up Western style with a few tables and chairs and an outdoor fire pit. The only reason I discovered this was because I heard laughter from the front gate, and snuck in to leave her bottle when Captain Kyouraku caught me by the scruff of my neck. I didn't smell alcohol on him, but I wasn't sure if he had been drinking. He lifted me clear of the ground by the same manner into the previously mentioned backyard, and sat me down in a chair where several other shinigami- Matsumoto's many friends- sat talking and eating. I wasn't coerced into drinking, thankfully, and the time spent in Matsumoto's company was refreshing in comparison to dinner.


	23. The Lost Day

**Meet the Beta!**

I joined the Anime Pulse forums (I'm division-ten, drop me a line!) about a month ago to find some people with similar interests to talk about anime and the like, and I asked if anyone wouldn't mind beta-ing my story for continuity, grammar, syntax, and overall cohesion. A very kind TimeChaserTwice is now assisting me, so yay! Please thank him profusely and shower him with Pocky when you get the chance! Also be nice, he's the only one other than me who knows what's going to happen. :-)

**TimeChaser: Hello, loyal readers!**

(Additional note- I've hit over **40,000** words! Holy smokes!)

**Enjoy!**

Tenth Moon, Twenty-Seventh Sun, Sixth Year (Metal)

If bottles had faces, the fourth one would be staring at me with a most evil smirk. It was the most unusual of the lot I had purchased the previous night, and there was a reason it was not tagged at all. I intended to deliver this one in person. And with Matsumoto on her day off, the office would be peacefully, blissfully, empty. I usually went to work an hour later and stayed in later on the Day of Metal, so I took the opportunity to box three lunches. I had to head halfway around the Seireitei and back, so I shun-po-ed quickly to the Academy, where the students were outside in line for their breakfasts. Like every other standardized food they offer in the cafeterias across Soul Society, the offerings were free and passable but hardly palatable. I stood on a tree branch above Ren's position and clacked my tongue three times before dropping the box over her head and speeding off, before the professors caught me. Sure, I was light years ahead of them in terms of ability, but this was not my division to run, and the Commander-General would have a fit if I entered the school's property without a proper introduction to the student body.

I arrived at my own office minutes later, cracked my back, and sat down to more clerical work. There was actually very little to do. With the festival coming up nobody was in the mood to handle much of anything, and it was the dreaded time of year for the general shinigami population of my own division: lots. Every national holiday, lots were drawn to see who had to work. Except at the bankai presentation, where there was a set captain in charge (me), all others had lots drawn. The unlucky captain who had to stay behind had to have their division draw for work as well (one in five), filling in all positions. Yesterday was the day when such papers had to be sorted and sent out, and since it had been done in such a timely manner, I had not much else to do. Groans from twenty percent of the office could be heard when I'd passed through that morning, and I was well aware of who was unlucky this year. Poor Tange Sakura, my third seat. This was her fifth year in a row. I honestly considered giving someone a bonus to switch with her. So after checking the budget and devising an appropriate bribe, I got my seventh seat to give up his day- he'd somehow never gotten a lot since I'd taken office. Come to think of it, Matsumoto never had to work on those days, either.

After settling the little bit I needed, I reminded myself of my promise to Ren, so I went and looked up her file.

Usually such things take months, and the problem is often due to their miss-sorting. I started messing with the mire of folders, putting them into tentative piles by century. The Tenth Division should really get their act together and start doing these things on the computer like a few of the other divisions, I mused. When budget review comes around in the Fourth Moon, I'll have that order placed.

My thoughts began to wander as I sifted through files, paying only enough attention to do the task at hand. I blew out a puff of air and thought of next week. I'd heard interesting stories about some of the other Captains- that Kuchiki's bankai looked like a sea of flowers, that Tousen's was as pitch black as night. Kurotsuchi's and Komamura's were huge, I'd been told, and everyone with a brain (of which some people unfortunately lacked in Soul Society) knew that Captain Zaraki of the Eleventh Division had no bankai ability. From what I'd heard, several of his lower seated officers ganged up on him for a friendly match, and it was the only time the deranged captain went lax on his division's motto that "losing mean death" (if that was the case, he'd lose six or seven powerful subordinates a year, something he could not afford to do).

Captain Aizen's, however, I'd heard was an artful piece of work- both shikai and bankai. I was very proud of my own abilities- both functional and fun to perform- but I'd heard his was quite a piece of work. This was something I could not wait to see for myself.

My cell phone beeped in spasms, and I looked at the clock Eleven-thirty. I pulled myself out of the mire of manila and red folders, tripping on the small stack of blue that had hidden itself in the far corner, out of anyone's sight. It was pure luck that I toppled over this stack, and read the small list of names that ensued as I reorganized it. Abarai's name was there; now that I think about it, he'd probably be fighting his captain at the showcase. What was he, fourth seat? I'd remembered hearing about him wanting to go for a vice-captain exam, too.

I flipped lower, seeing a bunch of people from World War One and Two- brutal murders that had decimated the bodies of these souls.

Wait… 1916. That's when Ren said she had died, right? Blonde hair, tall… I searched through the blue folders feverishly. Maybe she was manila (she couldn't have been red if she had remembered the year of her death), but she would have to havedied very young that way. What if she had been older?

Toriyama…

Dear God.

I thought third-seat-and-higher files were moved to another part of the records room. Mine was, so were most of the other Captains, vices and adjutants, unless they were like Captain Kuchiki- born instead of brought through- and the Soul Society was their first lifetime. You needed an access code to get a hold of those, one that not even I had.

I'd found Unohana's file. I didn't look inside; it was not my place to do so. But I opened it away from my face and felt the number of sheets. Two. Unohana never got her own paper back. I closed it, neatened the stack, and walked out of the room, sealing the door behind me.

I had lunch to attend to, anyway.

I pulled the two box lunches from the upper shelf of my cabinet, as well as the bottle of liquor, and headed out from my office to the right toward the Thirteenth Division.

Bowing at the gatekeepers, I followed the main pathway to the head office. Paper streamers were ablaze in red like the leaves here, and I quickly bounded over the ghost-post, a low wooden beam before a set of stairs- meant to trip spirits to prevent them from entering important buildings. An old Japanese custom, I remembered. Ironic.

My own division didn't have them, nor did the Fourth's. One of my predecessors must have gotten rid of the ones in the Tenth, and the Fourth could not afford for the ailing to be needlessly hopping over ceremonial barriers.

I plodded up the stairs and clanged the bell, waiting to be allowed in to seek an audience with Captain Ukitake. After a moment, an unseated officer pushed open the shoji and bade me in. He had come to visit my division many times, but I could not remember the last time I visited his- this might actually have been my first. I bowed graciously and entered Captain Ukitake's chambers.

"A visitor for you, sir," my escort said to the dappled silhouette I could make out from behind the large tan screen.

"I'm about to head to the cafeteria for lunch, Yuu. Please tell whomever it is that I request some time to eat. If they really need to speak with me, they are welcome to come along."

I must have written somewhere earlier in this entry the state of standardized food within the Seireitei. Did Ukitake stomach plain rice and miso every day? It couldn't help him feel any better; that was certain.

"I have food," I said, "It's not much, but I consider myself to be at least slightly able in the kitchen."

A pause. "Hi-Hitsugaya?" Apparently, he was taken aback by my arrival. "Truly?"

"What reason would I have to lie?" A slight hint of added sarcasm caused the older man to let out a choking laugh.

"Well then, do come in!" he said cheerfully, as his bout of coughing ended as quickly as it started. Rapping the screen with the back of his palm, the assistant pushed it aside to reveal the captain, sprawled haphazardly on the floor with a mountain of papers and scrolls, a small glowing tablet, and a pot of tea. His hair was everywhere, and, working alone, he certainly had no need for formality. If his uniform hadn't been neatly pressed and the brush pens and ink had been spilled or dried up, I would have mistaken him for having just risen from sleep. He slowly straightened himself out and dusted his haori twice, handing an earthen glazed pot and a half-emptied tea bowl over to the young man, a sign for him to take his leave.

"I think this is the first time I've ever seen you in this compound," Ukitake started, friendly as usual. "What brings you here?" His tone, now out of earshot of his subordinates, grew tense and serious- with good reason. I was the sane and practical captain, and certainly would not go around needlessly visiting other divisions like Ichimaru, Kyouraku, or Ukitake. Or so he (and I once) thought.

"Lunch." It was said with such finality that he raised an eyebrow and was very close to calling the Fourth Division down to check my mental well-being.

"That's all?" he asked quizzically, as if I was really trying to tell him something important in code.

"I thought I might try to bother you while you were doing work as you often do to me," I added with a mock sternness that elicited a snort from my elder captain. "You're ruining productivity in my division, and you know as well as I do that the budget is distributed based on standards of achievement. So I'm sabotaging you."

"You would so plainly speak to me of your motives, O-Wise-Yet-Egotistical-Villain?" he asked back, as I handed him one of the lacquered boxes and a bamboo thermos of cold tea. "I know your types- sneaking around all the time, acting innocent and diligent, until one day you snap, or fall into a vat of radioactive chemicals- you know, the usual."

My raised eyebrow gave him the hint that I did not quite get his joke, though, knowing him, if I had know the context, I might have cracked a smile- the closest thing to laughing I'd ever let myself do in the public sphere.

I unfolded the bento and he did the same. "And if I bribed you not to ruin this division, what would you do?"

'This'. He said 'this' again. Not 'my' division. 'This' one.

"Depends on what you are implying, Captain," I retorted.

"Well, there's always this," he replied, handing me a box. "I wasn't actually heading to the cafeteria, the fourth division sends my meals for the day directly to my house. I was heading to see you."

"What for?"

"You've only been dead half a century and you've forgotten?" He straightened himself up now, pushing the strands out of his face. "It's your own birthday. Not your birthday here- that's in the Twelfth Moon, you'll be fifty-five if I'm not mistaken, but you had actually died in the Eleventh and waited on a hill for a month until someone from my division found you and performed konso. However, sixty-one years ago this October Twenty-Seventh you were born. That's a just cause for a party, no?"

I… I could not believe that I had forgotten my own birthday. My _real_ birthday. How had he known and I'd forgotten? And, yes, I remember the black-haired grinning man who had performed konso on me, wearing a wooden plaque with the number thirteen and a moon-drop flower etched on, tied with white fabric around his right arm. I'd never gotten to thank him for being so kind. By the time I'd become a shinigami myself he was already dead.

Which would mean that I'd be in need of adding an addendum to last night's entry, now that I think of it.

"Urahara told me you had always wanted a son," I said, hoping to provoke a response.

"See, now, that's the ambiguity of the Japanese language. I recall saying 'child'." He smiled. So he did know. Is this the new fashion, I wonder? "I don't know. Always wanted to be a father to somebody, never got the chance. Does it bother you? You don't seem the type to like any display of affection."

"I'm not sure. I never met my real father, so, what could I say?"

"You're a man of action, so why don't you just open the gift instead?"

Carefully, I loosened the strings on the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a small red book- leather- tied shut with a yellow ribbon.

"My former vice captain found this with you when you had died. We had to pry it from your hands lest it be burned away when you crossed over. I dispatched another man of mine to retrieve it later and bring it back the long way around." He paused, as if debating wither or not to tell me something, took a deep breath, coughed, and finally spoke.

"In my house, here, in Seireitei… well, erm, there is a room… I've amassed things like these. Not for my own sake. Back when Kurosaki was Captain, he'd have his men give people back the things that they thought most precious that mine had retrieved, like what you were so grasping on to, even in death. After he left, I didn't have the nerve to tell you about it, and the part of his division responsible just went back to other routines. Only a small number of his and my men did such a thing; that's why the Commander General never noticed. Over three hundred years! Unfortunately, people die faster than we can distribute such trifles. I've been trying to get this back to you for ages- but every time, you always seem to be caught up in work here or elsewhere. I'm fortunate that you came to me for once."

I know I'd asked Urahara if I'd been a good son. But…

"Ukitake, am I a good daughter?" I asked, holding the faded book in my hands. I couldn't even remember what was so important about it, anyway.

He bowed his head lightly and put down his bento, stretching his arms wider. "May I?"

I reached out, and we hugged. That close, I could hear his ragged breath, trying desperately to hold in a cough. "You won't make me sick," I said lightly. "Nothing's contagious here."

"That… that's true… Thank you Hitsugaya."

We let go- a childless father and a fatherless child, on some rickety boat to nowhere.

He put his hand over his mouth and coughed violently again, and this time I saw blood between his fingers. No wonder he released so quickly. He didn't want to stain me. I found a small basin of water behind him that he pointed to with his free hand and set it within his range. He dipped is hand in and now I saw his face, dripping with blood like a vampire from a child's nightmare.

He splashed water over himself a second later, wiping up with disinfectant followed by a towel. The monster was gone. I had one too; it just wasn't visible.

He reopened his bento and put the thermos to his lips. "So, are you ready for next week's ceremony?" he asked cheerfully. "And excellent tea, by the way."


End file.
